GH[LD5 

CALENDAR 

BEAUTIFUL, 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcinive 

in  2008  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/cliildscalendarbeOObees 


CHILD'S 
CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


CHILD'S 
CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


Arranged  by 
E.  KATHAKIXE,  BEESON 


1905: 

BURT-TERRY- WILSON    COMPANY 

Publisliers 

Lafayette,  Indiana 


Copyright,    1905, 

by 

R.  Katharine  Beeson. 


PN 
C4B3 


To 

The  Children 

whose  welcome  of  the  first  editiou 

made  the  compilation  seem 

a  labor  worth  while 


3G827: 


Oyez,  oyez !  Lost,  stolen  or  strayed,  a  good 
ancient  practice — the  good  ancient  practice  of 
learning  by  heart.  Every  finder  will  be  hand- 
somely rewarded. 

— Vernon  Lnshington. 


WHEREFORE 


It  is  better  to  inspire  the  heart  with  a  noble 
sentiment  than  to  teach  the  mind  a  truth  of 
science. 

— Edward  Brooks. 


In  the  course  of  our  reading  we  should  lay 
up  in  our  minds  a  store  of  goodly  thoughts  in 
well-wrought  words,  which  shall  be  a  living 
treasure  of  knowledge  always  with  us,  and  from 
which,  at  various  times,  and  amidst  all  the  shift- 
ing of  circumstances,  we  might  be  sure  of  draw- 
ing some  comfort,  guidance,  and  sympathy. 

— Sir  Arthur  Helps. 


School-taught  English  usually  errs  in  the 
direction  of  pedantry;  it  lacks  life  and  virility. 
The  corrective  is  to  be  found  by  bringing  the 
child  early  and  late  into  contact  with  literature 
that  has  character  and  distinction.  Teach  him 
to  love  this,  to  return  to  it  often,  and  his  own 
spoken  and  written  English  will  be  worthy. 

— NicJwlas  Murray  Butler. 


Our  teachers  of  English  are  called  upon  to 
use  our  unsurpassed  English  literature,  as  it  has 
never  been  used  before,  toward  the  formation 
of  character,  the  enrichment  of  life  and  the  re- 
finement of  manners. 

— Percival    Chubb. 


Whatever  your  occupation  may  be,  and  how- 
ever crowded  your  hours  with  affairs,  do  not  fail 
to  secure  at  least  a  few  minutes  every  day  for  re- 
freshment of  your  inner  life  with  a  bit  of  poetry. 

Poetry  is  one  of  the  most  efficient  means  of 
education  of  the  moral  sentiment  as  well  as  of 
the  intelligence.  It  is  the  source  of  the  best  cul- 
ture. Let  a  man  truly  possess  himself  of  any 
one  of  the  works  of  the  great  poets,  and  no  mat- 
ter whatever  else  he  may  fail  to  know,  he  is  not 
v/ithout  education.     *     *     *     * 

To  learn  by  heart  the  best  poems  is  one  of 
the  best  parts  of  the  school  education  of  the  child. 

— Charles  Bitot  Norton, 


"The  acquisition  of  good  poetry,"  said 
Matthew  Arnold,  that  practical  thinker,  "is  a  dis- 
cipline in  the  whole  range  of  our  public  schools. 
More  than  any  other,  too,  it  works  of  itself."  It 
works  of  itself!  I  believe  that  if,  for  one  half 
hour  a  day,  a  teacher  were  to  read  good  poetry 
aloud  with  his  pupils,  not  fretting  them  with 
comments,  not  harrying  them  with  too  frequent 
questions,  but  doing  his  best  by  voice  and  man- 
ner to  hold  their  attention,  and  encourage  them 
to  read  in  their  turn,  pausing  only  at  some  salient 
beauty,  or  some  unusual  difficulty,  above  all  giv- 
ing the  poetry  time  to  sink  in — I  believe  thor- 
oughly he  would  find  himself  rewarded  beyond 
all  his  calculations.  For  a  child's  mind  is  a  won- 
derful worker  if  we  only  trust  it.  A  child's 
imagination  is  as  susceptible  of  improvement  by 
exercise  as  his  judgment  or  memory.  Can  we 
not  so  persuade  our  schoolmasters  that  our  chil- 
dren may  hear  this  music  more  clearly  and  more 
constantlv  than  we? — A.  T.  Qniller-Courh  in 
Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


Whatever  the  child  feels  in  his  heart,  what- 
ever lives  in  his  soul,  v^hatever  he  cannot  express 
in  his  own  words,  he  would   fain   have  others 

express  for  him, 

— Froebel. 


A  man  lives  in  the  last  half  of  life  on  the 
memory  of  things  read  in  the  first  half  of  life. 

— Samuel  Johnson. 


Blessings  be  with  them  and  eternal  praise 
Who  gave  us  nobler  loves  and  nobler  cares — • 
The  poets,  who  on  earth  have  made  us  heirs 
Of  truth  and  pure  delight  by  heavenly  lays. 

— Wordsworth. 


COME,  read  to  me  some  poem, 
Some  simple  and  heartfelt  lay, 
That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling, 
And  banish  the  thoughts  of  day. 

Not  from  the  grand  old  masters, 
Not  from  the  bards  sublime. 

Whose  distant  footsteps  echo 

Through  the  corridors  of  Time. 


Read  from  some  humbler  poet, 

Whose  songs  have  gushed  from  the  heart, 
As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer, 

Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start; 


Then  read  from  the  treasured  volume 

The  poem  of  thy  choice, 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 

The  beauty  of  thy  voice. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 
And  the  cares,  that  infest  the  day. 

Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  away. 

— Longfellow, 


EDITOR'S    rOREWORD 


THIS  collection  of  poems  and  prose  selec- 
tions to  be  memorized  by  children,  was 
arranged  for  use  in  the  Lafayette 
schools,  as  a  part  of  the  regular  courses 
in  English  and  ethics.  It  had  its  beginning  in 
the  oft  repeated  request  of  the  children  to  "read 
again"  certain  favorite  selections.  The  list,  short 
at  first,  read  again  and  again,  and  finally  learned 
by  heart,  included  a  few  poems  whose  richness 
of  imagery  and  brilliancy  of  word-coloring  af- 
forded the  children  a  satisfactory  expression  for 
their  own  enjoyment  of  the  beauty  of  the  out- 
door world  about  them.  It  was  easy  to  extend 
it  to  include  others  whose  recognized  literary 
merit  made  an  acquaintance  with  them  desirable ; 
still  others  whose  strong  human  interest  both 
stimulated  and  offered  a  means  of  expression 
for  feelings  which  might  grow  into  high  ideals 
of  what  man's  relations  to  his  neighbor  ought 
to  be ;  and  others  still,  whose  appeal  is  almost 
wholly  to  the  moral  nature. 

No  one  collection  could  possibly  contain 
everyone's  favorite.  Space  limitations  make  it 
necessary  to  exclude  much  that  one  feels  should 
be  included.  It  is  hoped,  however,  that  there  is 
sufficient  material  and  variety  to  permit  some 
liberty  of  choice  to  teachers  and  to  the  children 
themselves.    It  has  been  the  rule  to  ofifer  nothing 


that  was  not  in  itself  good,  and  then  to  hold 
to  that  which  the  children  liked. 

In  distributing  the  selections  through  the 
different  months  of  the  year,  the  Psalms  of  King 
David  naturally  took  their  place  in  November, 
the  Thanksgiving  month;  the  patriotic  and 
heroic  poems  and  hymns  fell  into  our  Country's 
anniversary  months — February,  the  birth-month 
of  so  many  of  our  great  men ;  May,  the  Memorial 
month;  and  July  the  birth-month  of  the  Nation. 
The  nature  poems,  of  course,  belong  of  right  to 
the  months  whose  beauties  they  celebrate.  Other 
poems  are  placed  where  room  for  them  could 
best  be  found  and  should  be  so  used  as  to  serve 
the  convenience  of  those  using  them,  regardless 
of  their  place  in  the  course. 

The  beginning  of  the  first  conscious  great 
epoch  in  a  child's  life  is  marked  by  his  "first  day" 
at  school.  His  year  then,  begins  with  September, 
rathen  than  January,  and  so  this  Calendar  of 
poem  and  prose  begins  with  the  month  of  the 
golden-rod  and  aster,  rather  than  with  New 
Year's  Day. 

It  is  my  privilege  to  express  my  debt  to 
President  Roosevelt  for  permission  to  include 
extracts  from  his  Inaugural  Address ; 

To  Edward  Everett  Hale  for  a  selection 
from  "The  Man  Without  a  Country;" 

To  James  Whitcomb  Rilev;  to  Henry  Van 
Dyke ;    to    Thomas    Bailey    Aldrich ;    to    Edwin 


Markham ;  to  Margaret  E.  Sangster ;  to  Evaleen 
Stein ;  to  "Susan  Coolidge ;"  to  Ella  Wheeler 
Wilcox,  and  to  Mary  H.  Krout,  for  generous 
permission  to  use  various  selections  from  their 
published  works. 

My  thanks  are  also  due  to  The  Bobbs-Mer- 
rill  Co.,  for  kind  permission  to  use  Riley's  poems ; 
to  tne  Century  Co.,  for  copyrighted  material  be- 
longing to  them ;  to  Charles  Scribner's  Sons  for 
poems  by  Eugene  Field  and  J.  G.  Holland ;  to 
Harper  &  Brothers  for  poems  by  Henry  Van- 
Dyke;  to  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  for  selections  from 
Bryant's  works ;  to  Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  for  se- 
lections from  the  works  of  Edward  Everett  Hale, 
Helen  Hunt  Jackson  and  Susan  Coolidge ;  to 
Small,  Maynard  &  Co.,  for  Walt  Whitman's 
"O  Captain !  My  Captain" ;  to  McClure,  Phillips 
&  Co.,  for  Edwin  Markham's  "Lincoln,"  from 
"Lincoln  and  Other  Poems;"  to  A.  C.  McClurg 
&  Co.,  for  "Rainbow  Fairies,"  from  "Child's  Gar- 
den of  Song;"  to  The  Educational  Publishing 
Co.,  for  various  selections  which  have  appeared 
in  Primary  Education ;  to  The  Outlook  Co.,  for 
the  verses,  "Agreed  to  Disagree." 

The  copyrighted  selections  from  the  works 
of  Lowell,  Longfellow,  Whittier,  Lucy  Larcom, 
Celia  Thaxter,  Edward  Sill  and  Frank  Dempster 
Sherman  are  by  permission  of  and  special  ar- 
rangement with  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  the 
authorized  publishers  of  their  works. 

Centennial  School,  June,  1905. 


CONTENTS 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  25 


FIRST  YEAR 
SEPTEMBER. 

Golden-rod  -  -  From  Our  Little  Ones. 
The  Bye-low  Song  _  _  -  Unknown. 
Nonsense  Alphabet  -  -  -  Edward  Lear. 
Alphabetic  Gems     ----- 


Come  Little  Leaves  -        -     George  Cooper. 

The  Swing          -  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

Nonsense  Alphabet  _         -         -         -     Lear 

Alphabetic   Gems  ----- 

NOVEMBER. 

Psalm  XXIII        -  -        -        -      The  Bible. 

The  Empty  Nest  -         -         -  Alice  E.  Allen. 

Nonsense  Alphabet  -         -         -         -     Lear 

Alphabetic   Gems  -         -         _         _        _ 

DECEMBER. 

When  Santa  Claus  Comes  -  Unknown. 

The  Little  Snow-Flake  Margaret  E.  Sangster. 
Nonsense  Alphabet  -         -         -         _     Lear 

Alphabetic   Gems         ----- 

JANUARY. 

The  New  Year  -  -  -  _  Unknown. 
The  Fairy  Artist  -  -  -  Unknown. 
Nonsense  Alphabet  _        -         -         -     Lear 

Alphabetic   Gems         ----- 


26 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FEBRUARY. 


America 

The  Heart  of  a  Seed 
Nonsense  Alphabet 
Alphabetic   Gems 


Samuel  Francis  Smith. 

Unknown. 

-     Lear 


MARCH. 


The  Wind       - 
Pussy  Willow  Song 
Nonsense  Alphabet 
Alphabetic   Gems 


APRIL. 


April 

My   Shadow 
Nonsense  Alphabet 
Alphabetic    Gems 


MAY. 


Little  Peach  Blossom     - 
Robin's  Secret     - 
Nonsense  Alphabet 
Alphabetic    Gems 


JUNE. 


Seven  Times  One 
Sweet   and   Low 
Nonsense  Alphabet 
Alphabetic    Gems 

The  Rainbow  Fairies 
Dewdrops 
Nonsense  Alphabet 
Alphabetic    Gems 


JULY. 


Stevenson 

Unknown. 

-    Lear. 


Unknown. 

Stevenson 

-    Lear. 


Unknown 

Unknown. 

-    Lear. 


Jean  Ingelow. 

Tennyson. 

-     Lear 


Lizzie  M.  Hadley. 

Mary  F.   Butts. 

-    Lear. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAVTIFVL 


27 


Wynken,  Blynken  and  Nod 
The  Three-Inch  Grin 
Non?ense  Alphabet 
Alphabetic   Gems 


Engene  Field. 

Unknown. 

-     Lear. 


SECOND  YEAR 


SEPTEMBER. 


The  Child's  World 
The  Flower  Lullaby     - 
Good-Bye  to  Summer 


W.  B.  Rands. 
Addic  Litchfield. 
Kate  S.  Kellogg. 


How  the  Leaves  Came  Down 

The  Chestnut 

The  Star  -        -        -        - 


Susan  Coolidge. 

Unknown. 

Jane  Taylor. 


NOVEMBER. 


Psalm  XXIV      - 
We  Thank  Thee      ■ 
How  to  be  Happy 


The  Bible. 

-  Margaret  E.  Sangster. 

-     Unknown. 


DECEMBER. 


The  Two  Little  Stockings 
What  Makes  Christmas 
The  Wonderful  Weaver 


Sarah  Keables  Hunt. 
Dorothy  Howe. 
George   Cooper. 


JANUARY. 


New  Year's  Greeting 

January 

The  Reason  Why 


Unknown. 

-     Unknown. 

Unknown. 


28  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FEBEUAB^. 

Our  Flag  _  _  -  -  -  Unknown. 
The  Shortest  Month  -  AdeUn  Whitney. 
Just  You  and  I     -         -         -         -     Unknown. 

MARCH. 

March  -  -  Constance  Fenimore  Woolson. 
Who  Has  Seen  the  Wind?  Christina  Rossetti. 
Pussy  Willows  -  Elizabeth  E.  Foulke. 

APRIL. 

An  April  Day  -  -  Rachel  E.  Smith. 
The  Sweet  Red  Rose  -  -  -  Joel  Stacy. 
What  Robin  Told        -        -      George  Cooper. 

MAlf. 

May  -         -         -         Ada  Stewart  Sheldon. 

Spring  _         -         -         -         Celia   Thaxter. 

The  Lilac  _        -        -    Clara  Doty  Bates. 

JUNE. 

The  Bluebell  -  -  -  -  Unknown. 
The   Silver  Boat       -        -  Mary  F.  Butts. 

The  Violet       -        -        -        -        Jane  Taylor. 

JUL?. 

The  Humming  Bird  -  -  -  Unknown. 
Lady  Moon  _        -        -      Lord  Houghton. 

The  Wasp  and  the  Bee      -        -        Unknown 

AUGUST 

If  I  Were  a  Sunbeam  -  -  Unknown. 
The  City  and  the  Country  Mouse  -  Rossetti. 
Love     -         -         -         -         Francis    Bourdillon. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  29 


THIRD  YEAR 
SEPTEMBER. 

September  -         -         Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 

Queer  Little   Historians     -     Adelbert   Caldwell. 


October's  Bright  Blue  Weather  -  H.  H.  Jackson. 
A  Fable        -  -        Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

NOVEMBER. 

Psalm   I  -         -         -         -  The    Bible. 

November     -----     Alice   Gary. 

DECEMBER. 

The  Little  Fir  Trees  -  Evaleen   Stein. 

JANUARY. 

Holiday  Gifts       -         -         -         -         Unknown. 
Talking  in  Their  Sleep     -     Edith  M.  Thomas. 

FEBRUARY. 

Waiting  to  Grow         -         _         -         Unknown. 
The  Red,  White,  and  Blue         -         D.  T.  Shaw. 

MARCH. 

V/hat   March  Does         -         May   Riley   Smith. 
Sir   Robin     -         -         -         -         Lucy   Larcom. 

APRIL. 

The  Tendril's   Faith     -     Ella   Wheeler   Wilcox. 
Agreed  to  Disagree         -         -         Sidney  Dayre. 


30  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

MAY. 

The  Four  Sunbeams         -         -         -       M.  K.  B. 
A  Song       _         _         -         _     Robert  Browning. 

JUNE. 

Robert  of  Lincoln     -     William  Cullen   Bryant. 
Winged  Seeds         -         -         Helen  Gray  Cone. 

JULY. 

The   Throstle       -         _         -         -         Tennyson. 
The    Forget-Me-Not  -         -  Unknown. 

AUGUST 

Earth  to  Air  -         -         .      L.  A.  C.  Ward. 

The  Children's   Hour         -         -         Longfellow. 


FOURTH  YEAR 

SEPTEMBEB. 

A  Dream  of  Autumn  -  James  Whitcomb  Riley. 
Rare    September       -         _         _  Unknown. 

OCTOBER. 

The  Village  Blacksmith     -         -         Longfellow. 
Columbus     -        -        -        -        Joaquin  Miller. 

NOVEMBEK. 

Psalm  CL.   -        -        -        -        -        The  Bible 
The  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims    -    Mrs.  Hemans. 

DECEMBER. 

The   First   Snow-Fall        -        -        -      Lowell. 
The  Christmas  Tree         -         Mary  A.  McHugh. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  31 

JANUAKY. 

The  Wizard  Frost  -  Frank  Dempster  Sherman. 
Abou  Ben  Adhem  -         -  Leigh  Hunt. 

FEBRUARY. 

Flag  of  the  Free         -         _         _         Unknown. 
Just  a  Little  _         _         -         -     Unknown. 

MARCH. 

March  _        _        _        -        Lucy   Larcom. 

The    Redbreast    and    Butterfly         Wordsworth. 

APRIL. 

The  Daffodils     -         -         -         -     Wordsworth. 
Jack-in-the-Pulpit      _         -         -  Unknown. 

MAY. 

Little  Dandelion  -         -         Helen  Bostwick. 

May       -         -         -         -         George  McDonald. 


Little  Boy  Blue         _         _  _     Eugene  Field. 

The   Barefoot   Boy         -         -  -         Whittier. 

JULY. 

Summer's  Sunny  Days         -  -         Unknown. 

Little  Brown  Hands     -         -  Mary  H.  Krout. 

AUGUST 

Give         _         -         _         _  Adelaide   Proctor. 

Alexander   Selkirk         _         _  _           Cowper. 


32  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FIFTH  YEAR 

SEPTEMBER. 

The  Corn  Song         -         -         John  G.  Whittier. 
The  Better  Way    -        -        -        -    Unknown. 

OCTOBER. 

October   Song       _         _         -         Evaleen  Stein. 
Autumn  Leaves  -         -  Angelina  Wray. 

NOVEMBER. 

Down    to    Sleep         -         Helen    Hunt   Jackson. 
Psalm  XV.       -        -        -        -  The   Bible. 

DECEMBER. 

Frost  Work    -         -         Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 
Home,    Sweet   Home         .         -         -         Payne. 

JANUARY. 

January         _         _         -         _         Evaleen    Stein. 
Asleep     -----     Edward   Jenks, 

FEBRUARY. 

The  Shepherd  of  King  Admetus         -       Lowell. 
Abraham  Lincoln     -     Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 

MARCH. 

March  _         _         _         -         -  Bryant. 

The  Voice  of  Spring        -        -     Mrs,  Hemans. 

APRII.. 

The   South  Wind   and   the   Sun         -         Riley. 
The  Average  Man       -       Margaret  E.  Sangstcr. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  33 

MAY. 

Work      -         _         -         -         Mary  N.  Prescott. 
The  Fiftieth  Birthday  of  Agassiz  -  Longfellow. 

JUNE. 

June  _         -         -         -         Richard   Burton. 

Leaning  and  Lifting     -     Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

JULY. 

Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic  -  Julia  Ward  Howe. 
The  American  Flag  .         -         -         Drake. 

AUGUST 

Wings         -        _         -         -         Mary  F.   Butts. 
Opportunity     -         -         -         -         Edward   Sill. 


SIXTH  YEAR 

SEPTEMBER. 

September  Days  -         -  Elliot  C.  True. 

Somebody's   Mother     -         -         -         Unknown. 

OCTOBER. 

Indian   Summer         -         -         Henry  VanDyke. 
Fame  _         _         _         _         -  Schiller. 

NOVEMBER. 

Psalm  XIX        -        -        -        -        The  Bible. 
The  Petrified  Fern       -         Mary  Bolles  Branch. 

DECEMBER. 

Christmas   Bells         -         -         .         Longfellow. 
V/hen  Daddy  Lights  the  Tree         -        Sangster. 


34 


CHILD' ^  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


JANUARY. 

The  Burial  of  Moses 
Hohenlinden         _         _         _ 

Mrs.  Alexander. 
Campbell. 

FEBRUARY. 

The    Heritage 

Find  a  Way  or  Make  It 

Lowell, 
John  G.  Saxe. 

MARCH. 

The  Ten  Commandments 
Gradatim       -         _         _         _ 

-     The  Bible. 
J.  G.  Holland. 

APRIL. 

To  the   Dandelion 
Robin's  Come 

MAY. 

Lowell. 
Caldwell. 

Love  of  Country 
Nolan's   Speech 

Scott. 
Edward  Everett  Hale. 

JUNE. 

The  Moss  Rose 
To  a  Skylark 

JULY. 

Krumacher 
Shelley. 

The  Origin  of  the 
Forest   Hymn 

Opal 

Unknown 
Bryant. 

AUGUST 

Our   Kind   of   a   Man 


Riley. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


35 


SEVENTH  YEAR 

SEPTEMBER. 

Ode    to   Autumn       _         _         _ 

Keats. 

The  Shell      -        -        -        -        - 

Tennyson. 

OCTOBER. 

To  a  Water   Fowl 

Bryant. 

Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore 

Wolfe. 

NOVEMBER. 

Psalm    XC.         -         -         -         T 

The   Bible. 

Recessional       _         _         _         - 

Kipling. 

DECEMBER. 

The    Snow    Storm         _         _         _ 

Emerson. 

Ring  Out,  Wild  Bells 

Tennyson. 

JANUARY. 

Winter           .         _        _         _         _ 

Whittier. 

The   Bells     ----- 

Poe. 

FEBRUARY. 

lyincoln,  the  Great  Commoner  -  Edwin  Markham 
The  Aim  of  Life         .         _         _         -       Bailey. 

MARCH. 

The  Eve  of  Waterloo         -         -         -        Byron. 
The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade    -    Tennyson. 

APRIL. 

An  April  Day  -  Caroline  B.    Southey. 

King  Henry's  Address  to  His  Soldiers 

Shakespeare. 


36 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


The  Star  Spangled  Banner     -     Francis  S.  Key. 
The  Blue  and  the  Grav     -         -         _         Finch. 


JUNE. 


Thoughts  fer  the  Discuraged  Farmer     -     Riley. 

JUXY. 


The    Humble-bee 

Emerson. 

The   Skylark 

James   Hogg. 

AUGUST 

The  Cloud        -        -        -        - 

-       Shelley, 

The  Finding  of  the  Lyre 

Lowell. 

EIGHTH  YEAR 

SEPTEMBEE. 

The  Chambered  Nautilus 

Holmes. 

Hymn  to  Diana         _         _         _ 

Ben  Jonson. 

OCTOBER. 

To   the    Fringed    Gentian 

Bryant. 

The  Last  Leaf 

Holmes. 

NOVEMBEE. 

Psalm  CXLVni 

The   Bible. 

DECEMBER. 

God   Bless  Us   Every   One 

Riley 

Winter           -         - 

Lowell. 

CHILD' ki  CALENDAR  BEAUIIFUL 


JANUAKT. 


Lead  Kindly  Light 
Remember ! 


Cardinal   Newman. 
The   Bible. 


FEBRUARY. 


The  Ship  of  State 

O  Captain!  My  Captain! 


Longfellow. 
Walt  Whitman. 


The  Ladder  of  St.  Augustine 
Thanatopsis        _         _         - 


APRIL. 


Concord   Hymn 
Old  Ironsides 


Longfellow. 
Bryant. 


Emerson. 
Holmes. 


The  Gettysburg  Address 
Inausfural   x\ddress 


Lincoln. 

Roosevelt. 


A  June  Day 


JtJNE. 


JULY. 


The  Name  of  Old  Glory 
The  Present  Crisis 


-    Lowell. 


Riley. 
-    Lowell. 


tjong 


Riley 


BETWEEN  WHILES. 


tj 


mii27± 


riRST  YEAR 

Be  to  others  kind  and  true 
As  you'd  have  others  be  to  you. 

Golden  Rule. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  41 


SEPTEMBER 


GOLDEN-ROD 

"T^ELL  me,  sunny  golden-rod, 

^     Growing  everywhere. 
Did  Fairies  come  from  Fairyland 
And  make  the  dress  you  wear? 

Say,  did  you  get  from  mines  of  gold 
Your  bright  and  shining  hue? 

Or  did  the  baby  stars  some  night 
Fall  down  and  cover  you? 

Or  did  the  angels  flap  their  wings 

And  drop  their  glitter  down 
Upon  you,  laughing  golden-rod, 

Your  nodding  head  to  crown? 

Or  are  you  clothed  in  sunshine  caught 
From  summer's  brightest  day, 

To  give  again  in  happy  smiles 
To  all  who  pass  your  way  ? 

—From  Our  Little  Ones. 


42  CHILD' a  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FIKST    TEAB  BEPTEMBEB 


THE  BYE-LOW  SONG 

Ci7  AY,  birdies,  when  your  bed-time  comes, 
•^  And  underneath  your  mother's  wing 
You're  tucked  away  so  carefully. 

Does  Mamma  Birdie  to  you  sing 
,  The  Bye-Low  Song? 

Say,  little  lamb,  with  curly  hair, 
That  in  the  field  is  gamboling 

The  whole  day  through,when  bed-time  comes, 
Does  Mamma  Sheep  then  to  you  sing 
The  Bye-Low  Song? 

I  know  that  when  my  bed-time  comes. 
And  I  am  tired  of  everything, 

I  cannot  go  to  sleep  unless 

I  hear  my  Mamma  softly  sing 
The  Bye-Low  Song. 


CHILD'S  CALJuNDAR  BEAUTIFUL  43 


FIRST    YEAR 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

A  was  an  ant 
Who  seldom  stood  still, 
And  who  made  a  nice  house 
In  the  side  of  a  hill. 
Nice  little  ant! 

Bwas  a  bat, 
Who  slept  all  the  day; 
And  fluttered  about 

When  the  sun  went  away. 
Brown  little  bat! 

— Edward  Lear. 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

AS  little  by  little  the  oak  trees  grow, 
So  little  by  little  I'll  try  to  know ; 
One  of  these  days  perhaps  we'll  see 
The  world  will  be  the  better  for  me. 

BE  kind  and  be  gentle 
To  those  who  are  old, 
For  dearer  is  kindness 

And  better  than  gold. 


44  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


OCTOBER 


COME  LITTLE  LEAVES 

COME,  little  leaves,"  said  the  wind  one  day, 
'•Come  o'er  the  meadows  with  me  and  play ; 
Put  on  your  dresses  of  red  and  gold, 
Summer  is  gone  and  the  days  grow  cold." 

Soon  as  the  leaves  heard  the  wind's  loud  call, 
Down  they  came  fluttering  one  and  all ; 
Over  the  brown  fields  they  danced  and  flew. 
Singing  the  glad  little  songs  they  knew. 

Dancing  and  whirling  the  little  leaves  went. 
Winter  had  called  them  and  they  were  content; 
Soon  fast  asleep  in  their  earthy  beds 
The  snow  laid  a  white  blanket  over  their  heads. 

— George  Cooper. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFCL  45 


FIBST    TEAR 


THE  SWING 

|— I OW  do  you  like  to  go  up  in  a  swing, 
'  '      Up  in  the  air  so  blue? 
Oh,  I  do  think  it  the  pleasantest  thing 
Ever  a  child  can  do! 

Up  in  the  air  and  over  the  wall, 

Till  I  can  see  so  wide. 
Rivers  and  trees  and  cattle  and  all 

Over  the  countryside — 

Till  I  look  down  on  the  garden  green, 
Down  on  the  roof  so  brown — 

Up  in  the  air  I  go  flying  again, 
Up  in  the  air  and  down! 

— Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


46  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FIRST    TEAR  OCTC 

NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

Cwas  a  camel, 
You  rode  on  his  hump ; 
And  if  you  fell  off, 

You  came  down  such  a  bump! 
What  a  high  camel! 

Dwas  a  duck 
With  spots  on  his  back, 
Who  lived  in  the  water. 

And  always  said  "Quack!" 
Dear  little  duck ! 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

Cherish  what  is  good  and  drive 
Evil  thoughts  and  feelings  far, 
For  as  sure  as  you're  alive 

You  will  show  for  what  you  are. 

— Phoebe   Gary. 

Do  not  look  for  wrong  and  evil 
You  will  find  them  if  you  do ; 
As  you  measure  to  your  neighbor 
He  will  measure  back  to  you. 

— Alice  Gary. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  47 


NOVEMBER 


PSALM  XXIII 

1.  The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd;  I  shall  not 
want. 

2.  He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green 
pastures:  he  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters. 

3.  He  restoreth  my  soul:  he  leadeth  me  in 
the  paths  of  righteousness  for  his  name's  sake. 

4.  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil:  for 
thou  art  with  me;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff  they 
comfort  me. 

5.  Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the 
presence  of  mine  enemies:  thou  anointest  my 
head  with  oil;  my  cup  runneth  over. 

6.  Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow 
me  all  the  days  of  my  life ;  and  I  will  dwell  in  the 
house  of  the  Lord  forever. 

—The  Bible. 


48  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FIRST    TEAR 


THE  EMPTY  NEST* 

rLY   away   little   bird!      Southern   skies   are 
aglow, 
And  our  winter  is  coming  in  silence  and  snow; 
Take  the  songs  that  you  taught  me  on  summer 

days  fleet, 
Take  the  music  you  brought,  so  tender,  so  sweet. 
But  leave  me  this  wee  nest,  so  lonely  and  gray ! 
Fly  away!    Fly  away!    Fly  away! 

Fly  away  little  bird,  with  the  bonny  red  breast! 
1  remember  one  day  well — we  love  it  the  best, — 
I  found  in  their  cradle,  so  dreamy  and  deep, 
Blue  eggs, — bits  of  music  were  in  them  asleep, — 
Don't  forget  this  wee  nest  so  empty  today! 
Fly  away,  little  bird,  fly  away ! 

Fly  away,  little  bird!  through  the  snow  and  the 

storm ! 
I  shall  know  you  are  singing  in  groves  glad  and 

warm; 
Next  spring,  will  you  bring  to  me  dreams  of  it  all 
As  sweetly  you  sing  to  me  from  your  tree  tall? 
You'll  find'  your  nest  waiting  that  morning  in  May, 

Fly  away!    Fly  away!    Fly  away! 

— Alice  E.  Allen. 

•Copyrighted  and  must  not  be  reproduced  without  permission. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  49 


FIRST    TEAR 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 


E 


was  an  elephant, 
Stately  and  wise ; 
He  had  tusks  and  a  trunk, 
And  two  queer  little  eyes. 

Oh,  what  funny  small  eyes 


r 


was  a  fish 
Who  was  caught  in  a  net; 
But  he  got  out  again, 

And  is  quite  alive  yet. 
Lively  young  fish ! 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

Every  gentle  word  you  say 
One  dark  spirit  drives  away; 
Every  gentle  deed  you  do 
One  bright  spirit  brings  to  you. 

— Virginia  Harrison. 

ror  what  you  find  in  these  sweet  days 
Depends  on  how  you  go  about  it. 
A  glad  heart  helps  poor  eyes  to  see. 

What  brightest  eyes  can't  see  with- 
out it.  — Henrietta  Bliot. 


50  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


DECEMBER 


WHEN  SANTA  CLAUS  COMES 

/V\  ERRILY,  merrily,  merrily  oh ! 
^     ^    The  reindeer  prance  across  the  snow; 
We  hear  their  tinkling  silver  bells, 
Whose  merry  music  softly  tells 
Old  Santa  Claus  is  coming. 

Merrily,  merrily,  merrily  oh  ! 

The  evergreens  in  the  woodland  grow; 

They  rustle  gently  in  the  breeze; 

O,  don't  you  think  the  Christmas  trees 

Know  Santa  Claus  is  coming? 

Merrily,  merrily,  merrily  oh ! 
We've  hung  our  stockings  in  a  row, 
Into  our  beds  we'll  softly  creep, 
Just  shut  our  eyes  and  go  to  sleep 
And  wait — for  Santa  Claus  is  coming. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  51 


F!RST     YEAR 


THE  LITTLE  SNOW  FLAKE 

IT  was  a  little  snow  flake 
With  tiny  winglets  furled ; 
Its  warm  cloud  mother  held  it  fast 

Above  the  sleeping  world. 
All  night  the  wild  wind  blustered, 
And  blew  o'er  land  and  sea; 
But  the  little  snowflake  cuddled  close, 
As  safe  as  safe  could  be. 

Then  came  the  cold  gray  morning, 

And  the  great  cloud  mother  said, 
"Now  every  little  snowflake 

Must  proudly  lift  its  head. 
And  through  the  air  go  sailing 

Till  it  finds  a  place  to  light, 
For  I  must  weave  a  coverlet 

To  clothe  the  earth  in  white." 

The  little  snowflake  fluttered, 

And  gave  a  wee,  wee  sigh ; 
But  fifty  million  other  flakes 

Came  floating  softly  by; 
And  the  wise  cloud  mothers  sent  them 

To  keep  the  world's  bread  warm. 
Through  many  a  winter  sunset. 

Through  many  a  winter  storm. 

— Margaret  B.  Songster. 


53  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FlHST     YEAR 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

Gwas  a  goat 
Who  was  spotted  and  brown; 
When  he  did  not  lie  still 
He  walked  up  and  down. 
Good  little  goat ! 

nwas  a  hat 
Which  was  all  on  one  side; 
Its  crown  was  too  high, 
And  its  brim  was  too  wide. 
Oh,  what  a  hat! 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

C"'  oodness  shows  in  blushes  bright, 
3      Or  in  eyelids  dropping  down, 
Like  a  violet  from  the  light; 
Badness,  in  a  sneer  or  frown. 

— Phochc  Gary. 

nearts  like  doors  will  ope  with  ease 
To  very,  very  little  keys, 
And  don't  forget  that  two  are  these: 
"I  thank  you"  and  "If  you  please." 


CHILD'S  CALEyDAR  BEAUTIFUL  63 


J^^'UJlRY 


THE  NEW  YEAR 

OI  am  the  little  New  Year,  ho !  ho ! 
Here  I  come  tripping  it  over  the  snow 
Shaking  my  bells  with  a  merry  din. 
So  open  your  doors  and  let  me  in. 


THE  FAIRY  ARTIST 

Oh,  there  is  a  little  artist 
Who  paints  in  the  cold  night  hours, 
Pictures  for  little  children. 

Of  wondrous  trees  and  flowers ! 

Pictures  of  rushing  rivers 

By  fairy  bridges  spanned ; 
Bits  of  beautiful  landscape 

Copied  from  elfin  land. 

The  moon  is  the  lamp  he  paints  by, 

His  canvas,  the  window  pane. 
His  brush  is  a  frozen  snowflake, 
lack  Frost  is  the  artist's  name. 


54  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FJK8T    YEAR 

NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

I  was  some  ice 
So  white  and  so  nice, 
But  which  nobody  tasted; 
And  so  it  was  wasted. 
All  that  good  ice ! 

I    was  a  jug, 
Q}     So  pretty  and  white. 
With  fresh  water  in  it 
At  morning  and  night. 
Nice  little  jug. 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

I    know  a  child  and  who  she  is 
I'll  tell  you  by  and  by ; 
When  mother  savs,  "Do  this,  or  that," 
She  sa)'s  "What  for?"  or  "Why?" 
She'd  be  a  better  child  bv  far. 
If  she  would  say,  "I'll  tr}-." 

— Unknoivn. 

lust  for  today! 
Oy         Let  me  no  wrong  or  idle  word 

Unthinking  say, 
Put  thou  thy  seal  upon  my  lips 
Just   for  today ! 

— Canon  Farrar. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  55 

FEBRUARY 

AMERICA 
/VA  Y  country,  'tis  of  thee, 
/     V    Sweet  land  of  liberty, 
Of  thee  I  sing. 
Land  where  my  fathers  died. 
Land  of  the  Pilgrims'  pride, 
From  every  mountain  side, 
Let  Freedom   ring. 

My  native  country,  thee. 
Land  of  the  noble  free, 
Thy  name  I  love ; 
I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills, 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills; 
My  heart  with  rapture  thrills 
Like  that  above. 

Lft  music  swell  the  breeze 
And  ring  from  all  the  trees, 
Sweet  freedom's  song. 
Let  mortal  tongues  awake. 
Let  all  that  breathe  partake. 
Let  rocks  their  silence  break. 
The   sound   prolong. 

Our  fathers'  God,  to  Thee, 

Author  of  liberty, 

To  Thee  we  sing; 

Long  may  our  land  be  bright 

With  freedom's  holy  Hght; 

Protect  us  by  Thy  might, 

Great  God  our  King. 

— Samuel  Francis  Smith. 


56  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FinST    YEAR 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SEED 

I  N  the  heart  of  a  seed, 

*   Buried  deep,  so  deep, 

A  dear  little  plant  lay  fast  asleep. 

"Awake,"  said  the  sunshine, 

"And  creep  to  the  light." 

"Awake,"  said  the  voice 
Of  the  raindrop  bright. 
The  little  plant  heard 
And  rose  to  see 

What  this  beautiful  outside  world 
might  be. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFCL  57 


FIRST    TEAR 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

Kwas  a  kite 
Which  flew  out  of  sight, 
Above  houses  so  high, 
Quite  into  the  sky. 
Fly   away,   kite ! 

Lwas  a  lily. 
So  white  and  so  sweet! 
To  see  it  and  smell  it 
Was  quite  a  nice  treat. 
Beautiful  lilv. 


K 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

■'^ind  hearts  are  the  gardens, 

Kind  thoughts  are  the  roots, 


Kind  words  are  the  blossoms, 

Kind  deeds  are  the  fruits. 

Little  children,  you  should  seek 
Rather  to  be  good  than  wise, 
B'or  the  thoughts  you  do  not  speak 

Shine  out  in  your  cheeks  and  eyes 


58  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

THE  WIND 

I    saw  you  toss  the  kites  on  high 
And  blow  the  birds  about  the  sky; 
And  all  around  I  heard  you  pass, 
Like  ladies'  skirts  across  the  grass — 
O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song! 

I  saw  the  different  things  you  did, 
But  always  you  yourself  you  hid. 
I  felt  you  push,  I  heard  you  call, 
I  could  not  see  yourself  at  all — 

O  wind,  a-blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind,  that  sings  so  loud  a  song. 

O  you,  that  are  so  strong  and  cold, 
O  blower,  are  you  young  or  old? 
Are  you  a  beast  of  field  and  tree. 
Or  just  a  stronger  child  than  me? 
O  wind  a  blowing  all  day  long, 
O  wind  that  sings  so  loud  a  song! 

— Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


PUSSY  WILLOW  SONG 

I     ITTLE  Pussy  Willow, 
1— J   Budding  on  the  tree. 
When  we  see  your  fuzzy  coat. 

Blithe  and  gay  are  we; 
For  we  know  that  Spring  has  come. 

When  you  first  appear; 
Know  that  soon  the  bluebird's  call 

Tovfullv  we'll  hear. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  59 


FIRST    YEAR 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

j\A    was  a  man, 

/     1   Who  walked  round  and  round; 
And  he  wore  a  long  coat 
That  came  down  to  the  ground. 
Funny  old  man ! 

Nwas  a  net 
Which  was  thrown  in  the  sea 
To  catch  fish  for  dinner 
For  you  and  for  me, 
Nice  little  net! 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

l\A  ake  a  little  sunshine  dear, 
i     1      'Tis  surely  worth  your  while; 
Make  a  little  sunshine  here, 

'Twill  only  cost  a  smile. 

No  matter  what  you  try  to  do, 
At  home  or  at  your  school. 
Always  do  your  very  best, 

There  is  no  better  rule. 


60  CHILD' ki  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


APRIL 


APRIL 

r^  OOD  morning,  sweet  April,  so  winsome 
^-^      and  shy, 

With  a  smile  on  your  lip  and  a  tear  in  your  eye, 
There  are  pretty  hepaticas  hid  in  your  hair, 
And  bonny  blue  violets  clustering  there. 

The  spring-beauties  wake  for  the  girls  and  the 

boys, 
And   the  earth   growj  green  without  bustle  or 

noise. 
From  tiny  brown  beds  now  wrapped  fold  upon 

fold, 
The  loveliest  garlands  will  soon  be  unrolled. 

Ah,  welcome !  sweet  April,  whose  feet  from  the 

hills 
Have  walked  down  the  valleys  and  crossed  o'er 

the  rills ; 
The   pearls   that   you   bring   us   are    dews   and 

warm   showers, 
And    the    hem    of    your    garment    is    broidered 

with  flowers. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  61 

FIEST     YEAR  AFRIL 

MY  SHADOW 

I   HAVE  a  little  shadow  that  goes  in  and  out 
with  me, 

And  what  can  be  the  use  of  him  is  more  than  I 
can  see. 

Ke  is  very,  very  like  me  from  the  heels  up  to 
the   head ; 

And  I  see  him  jump  before  me  when  I  jump 
into  bed. 

The  funniest  thing  about  him  is  the  way  he  likes 
to  grow — 

Not  at  all  like  proper  children  which  is  always 
very  slow; 

For  he  sometimes  shoots  up  taller  like  an  india- 
rubber  ball, 

And  he  sometimes  gets  so  little  that  there's  none 
of  him  at  all. 

He  hasn't  any  notion  of  how  children  ought  to 
play, 

And  can  only  make  a  fool  of  me  in  every  sort 
of  way ; 

He  stays  up  close  beside  me,  he's  a  coward  you 
can  see, 

I'd  be  ashamed  to  stick  to  nursie  as  that  shadow 
sticks  to  me. 

One  morning  very  early,  before  the  sun  was  up, 

I  rose  and  found  the  shining  dew  on  every  but- 
tercup ; 

But  my  lazy  little  shadow,  like  an  arrant  sleepy- 
head 

Had  stayed  at  home  behind  me   and  was   fast 
asleep  in  bed. 

— Robert   Louis  Stevenson, 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


IIRST    YEAR 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

Owas  an  orange 
So  yellow  and  round; 
When  it  fell  off  the  tree, 
It  fell  down  to  the  ground. 
Down  to  the  ground ! 

Pwas  a  polly, 
All  red,  blue,  and  green, 
The  most  beautiful  polly 
That  ever  was  seen. 
Poor  little  polly ! 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

One  child  sees  sunlit  air  and  sky, 
And  bursting  leaf-buds  round  and  rudd\ 
Another  looks  down  at  the  earth 

And  only  sees  that  it  is  muddy. 

Politeness  is  to  do  and  say 
The  kindest  thing  in  the  kindest  way. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  63 


MAY 


LITTLE  PEACH  BLOSSOM 

LITTLE  Peach  Blossom  has  waked  at  last, 
What  do  you  think  awoke  her? 
Not  the  birds  that  sang  and  twittered  all  day, 
And  talked  of  their  nests    and    the    eggs  they 

would  lay ; 
Not  the  wind  as  it  rocked  the  cradle  so  fast. 
And  told  her  that  winter  had  long  ago  passed; 
Not  the  sun  as  he  wrapped  her  in  an  embrace. 
And  showered  sweet  kisses  upon  her  fair  face; 
Nor  the  moon  nor  the  stars  though  they  glis- 
tened  so   bright, 
And  tried  to  persuade  her  to  work  in  the  night — 
But  a  warm  April  shower  fell  on  her  one  day 
With  a  quick  dash  of  rain,  and  this  is  the  way 
That  little  Peach  Blossom  first  opened  her  eyes 
With  a  faint  little  blush  and  a  look  of  surprise. 


64  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FIRST     TEAR 


ROBIN'S  SECRET 

\  « /E  have  a  seCi"et,  just  we  three, 
*'      The  robin  and  I  and  the  sweet  cherr}'  tree ; 
The  bird  told  the  tree,  and  the  tree  told  me, 
And  nobody  knows  it  but  just  we  three. 

But  of  course  the  robin  knows  it  best. 
Because  he  built  the — I  shan't  tell  the  rest; 
And  laid  the  four  little — somethings — in  it — 
I  am  afraid  I  shall  tell  it  every  minute. 

But  if  the  tree  and  the  robin  don't  peep, 

I'll  try  my  best  the  secret  to  keep ; 

Though  I  know  when  the  little  birds  fly  about. 

Then  the  whole  secret  will  be  out. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  65 


FIRST    TEAR 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

Qwas  a  quail 
With  a  very  short  tail ; 
And  he  fed  upon  corn 
In  the  evening  and  morn. 
Quaint  little  quail ! 

Rw-^.s  a  rabbit, 
Who  had  a  bad  habit 
Of  eating  the  flowers 
In  garden  and  bowers. 
Naughty  fat  rabbit! 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

Quit  all  the  little  faults 
Then  the  big  ones  cannot  grow; 
Shun  the  wrong  and  do  the  right, 
Make  your  life  as  pure  as  snow. 

— Unknown. 

Remember  the  old  proverb  says 
That  "pretty  is  which  pretty  does ;" 
That  true  worth  neither  goes  nor  stays 
For  poverty  or  splendor. 

— Phoebe   Cary. 


66  CHILD'S   CALENDAR   BEVATIFUL 

JUNE 

SEVEN  TIMES  ONE 

THERE'S  no  dew  left  on  the  daisies  and  clover, 
There's  no  rain  left  in  heaven; 
I've  said  my  "seven  times"  over  and  over, 

Seven  times  one  are  seven. 
I  am  old,  so  old  I  can  write  a  letter; 

My  birthday  lessons  are  done; 
The  lambs  play   always,   they  know  no  better, 
They  are  only  one  times  one. 

0  moon!  in  the  night  I  have  seen  you  sailing 

And  shining  so  round  and  low ; 
You  were  bright,  ah  bright!  but  your  hght  is  failing. 

You're  nothing  now  but  a  bow. 
You  moon,  have  you  done  something  wrong  in 
heaven 

That  God  has  hidden  your  face? 

1  hope  if  you  have  you  will  soon  be  forgiven. 

And  shine  again  in  your  place. 
O  velvet  bee,  you're  a  dusty  fellow. 

You've  powdered  your  legs  with  gold ! 
O  brave  marsh  mary-buds,  rich  and  yellow, 

Give  me  your  money  to  hold ! 
O  columbine,  open  your  folded  wrapper. 

Where  two  twin  turtle-doves  dwell ! 

0  cuckoo  pint,  toll  me  your  purple  clapper 

That  hangs  in  your  clear  green  bell. 
And  show  me  your  nest  with  the  young  ones  in  it 
I  will  not  steal  them  away ; 

1  am  old ;  you  may  trust  me,  linnet,  linnet, 

I   am  seven   times   one  today. 

— Jean  Ingelow. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  67 


FIRST    TEAR 


SWEET  AND   LOW 

C^WEET  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 
"^-^      Wind  of  the  western  sea, 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow. 

Wind  of  the  western  sea ! 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 
Come  from  the  dying  moon  and  blow, 

Blow  him  again  to  me ; 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one  sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest. 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon ; 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast. 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon. 
Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest, 
Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west, 

Under  the  silver   moon ; 
Sleep  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep! 
— Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 


68  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FIKST     VEAE 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

Swas  the  sugar-tongs, 
Nippity-nee, 
To  take  up  the  sugar 
To  put  in  our  tea. 

Nippity-nee ! 

Twas  a  tortoise, 
All  yellow  and  black; 
He  walked  slowly  away, 
And  he  never  came  back. 
Torty  never  came  back. 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

Speak  the  truth !  'Tis  beautiful  and  brave ; 
Strong  to  bless  and  strong  to  save ; 
Falsehood  is  a  coward  knave ; 
Speak  the  truth. 

True  worth  is  in  being,  not  seeming; 
In  doing  each  day  that  goes  by, 
Some  little  good ;  not  in  the  dreaming 
Of  great  things  to  do  by  and  by. 

— Alice  Cary. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  69 

JULY 

THE  RAINBOW   FAIRIES 

TWO  little  clouds  one  summer  day- 
Went  flying  through  the  sky. 
They  went  so  fast  they  bumped  their  heads. 

And  both  began  to  cry. 
Old  Father  Sun  looked  out  and  said, 

"O,  never  mind,  my  dears, 
I'll  send  my  little  fairy  folk 
To  dry  your  falling  tears." 

One  fairy  came  in  violet, 

And  one  in  indigo. 
In  blue,  green,  orange,  red, — 

They  made  a  pretty  row. 
They  wiped  the  cloud  tears  all  away, 

And  then  from  out  the  sky 
Upon  a  line  the  sunbeam  made 

They  hung  their  gowns  to  dry. 

— Lissie  M.  Hadley. 


DEWDROPS 

A  MILLION   little   diamonds 
Twinkled  on  the  trees ; 
And  all  the  little  maidens  said 
"A  jewel,  if  you  please!" 

But  while  they  held  their  hands  outstretched 

To  catch  the  diamonds  gay, 
A  million  little  sunbeams  came 

And  stole  them  all  awav. 

—Mary  P.  Butts. 


70  CHILD' 8    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

Uwas  an  urn 
All  polished  and  bright 
And  full  of  hot  water 
At  noon  and  at  night. 
Useful   old   urn! 

Vwas  a  veil 
With  a  border  upon  it, 
And  a  ribbon  to  tie  it 
All  round  a  pink  bonnet. 
Pretty  green  veil ! 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

Unless  you  do  the  best  you  can 
And  do  it  every  day, 
No  need  to  wish  and  hope  and  plan, 
Your  time  is  thrown  away. 

Very  little  foxes 
Spoil  the  vines,  you  know ; 
Very  little  ugly  traits 

Into  big  ones  grow. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  71 


AUGUST 

WYNKEN,  BLYNKEN,  AND  NOD* 

WYNKEN,  Blynken  and  Nod,  one  night 
Sailed  off  in  a  wooden  shoe — 
Sailed  off  on  a  river  of  misty  light, 

Into  a  sea  of  dew; 
"Where  are  you  going  and  what  do  you  wish?' 

The  old  moon  asked  the  three: 
"We  have  come  to  fish  for  the  herring  fish 
That  live  in  the  beautiful  sea ; 
Nets  of  silver  and  gold  have  we," 
Said  Wynken,  Blynken  and  Nod. 

The  old  moon  laughed  and  sang  a  song. 

As  they  rocked  in  the  wooden  shoe ; 
And  the  wind  that  sped  them  all  night  long 

Rufifled  the  waves  of  dew. 
The  little  stars  were  the  herring  fish 

That  lived  in  that  beautiful  sea; 
"Now  cast  your  net  wherever  you  wish. 

Never  afeard  are  we," 
So  cried  the  stars  to  the  fisherman  three, 
Wynken,  Blynken  and  Nod. 


*From  The  Eugene  Field  Reader.     Permission  from  Charlea   Scrib- 
ner's  Sons. 


72  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FIBST    YEAR  AUGtlST 

All  night  long  their  nets  they  threw 

To  the  stars  in  the  twinkling  foam, 
Then  down  from  the  sky  came  the  wooden  shoe, 

Bringing  the  fishermen  home. 
'Twas  all  so  pretty  a  sail  it  seemed 

As  if  it  could  not  be, 
And  some  folks  thought  'twas  a  dream  they'd 
dreamed, 

Of  sailing  that  beautiful  sea; 
But  I  shall  name  you  the  fishermen  three, 
Wynken,  Blynken  and  Nod. 

Wynken  and  Blynken  are  two  little  eyes, 

And  Nod  is  a  little  head, 
And  the  wooden  shoe  that  sailed  the  skies 

Is  a  wee  one's  trundle  bed; 
So  shut  your  eyes  while  Mother  sings 

Of  wonderful  sights  that  be, 
And  you  shall  see  the  beautiful  things 

As  you  rock  in  the  misty  sea, — 
Where  the  old  shoe  rocked  the  fishermen  three, 
Wynken,  Blynken  and  Nod. 

— Eugene  Field. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  73 


FIRST    TEAR 


THE  THREE-INCH  GRIN 

SISTER  measured  my  grin  one  day, 
Took  the  ruler  and  me, 
Measured  the  inches  all  the  way. 
One,  two,  three. 

"Oh!  You're  a  chesshire  cat,"  said  she; 

Father  said,  "That's  no  sin," 
Then  he  nodded  and  smiled  at  me. 

Smiled  at  my  three-inch  grin. 

Brother  suggested  I'd  better  begin 

Trying  to  trim  it  down ; 
But  mother  said,  "Better  a  three-inch  grin, 

Than  a  little  hali-inch   frown." 


74  CEILD'8  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FIRST    YEAR 


NONSENSE  ALPHABET 

Wwas  a  watch, 
Where,  in  letters  of  gold, 
The  hour  of  the  day 
You  might  always  behold. 
Beautiful  watch 

Ywas  a  yew 
Which  flourished  and  grew 
By  a  quiet  abode 
Near  the  side  of  a  road ; 
Dark  little  yew. 

Zwas  a  zebra 
All  striped  white  and  black ; 
And  if  he  were  tame 
You  might  ride  on  his  back ; 
Pretty,  striped  zebra ! 


ALPHABETIC  GEMS 

When  you're  told  to  do  a  thing, 
And  mean  to  do  it  really, 
Never  let  it  be  by  halves, 
Do  it  fully,  freely. 

— Alice  Cary. 

Yet  when  you  come  to  think  of  it 
The  day  is  what  you  make  it; 
And  whether  good  or  whether  bad 
Depends  on  how  you  take  it. 


SECOND    YEAR 

DO  not  look  for  wrong  and  evil, — 
You  will  find  them  if  you  do; 
As  you  measure  to  your  neighbor 
He  will  measure  back  to  you. 

Look  for  goodness,  look  for  gladness, 
You  will  meet  them  all  the  while; 

If  you  bring  a  smiling  visage  to  the  glass 
You  will  meet  a  smile. 

— Alice  Cary. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  77 


SEPTEMBER 


THE  CHILD'S  WORLD 

GREAT,  wide,  beautiful,  wonderful  World, 
With  the  wonderful  water  around  you  curled, 
And  the  wonderful  grass  upon  your  breast. 
World,  you  are  beautifully  dressed. 

The  wonderful  air  is  over  me, 
And  the  wonderful  wind  is  shaking  the  tree ; 
It  walks  on  the  water,  and  whirls  the  mills. 
And  talks  to  itself  on  the  tops  of  the  hills. 

You  friendly  Earth,  how  far  do  you  go 

With  the  wheatfields  that  nod,   and  the  rivers 

that  flow. 
With  cities  and  gardens  and  cliffs  and  isles, 
And  people  upon  you  for  thousands  of  miles? 

Ah,  you  are  so  great,  and  I  am  so  small, 

1  tremble  to  think  of  you,  World,  at  all ; 

And  yet,  when  I  said  my  prayers,  today, 

A  whisper  inside  me  seemed  to  say : 

"You  are  more  than  the  Earth,  though  you  are 

such  a  dot ; 
You  can  love  and  think,  and  the  Earth  cannot" 

—IV.  B.  Rands. 


78  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


BECOND    YEAR 


FLOWER  LULLABY 

ALL  of  the  flowers  are  going  to  bed, 
Daisies  are  nodding  their  pretty  white  heads, 
Clovers  have  softly  just  whispered  "Good  night," 
Soon  Mother  Nature  will  tuck  them  up  tight. 

"Lullaby,  lullaby,"  now  the  winds  sigh, 
"Mother  will  watch  you  while  winter  is  nigh ;" 
Over  them  softly  she  spreads  a  white  sheet, 
"Lullaby,  lullaby,  sleep,  babies,  sleep." 

Softly,  so  softly,  she's  calling  them  all; 
"Hasten,  oh,  bluebells,  or  night  shades  will  fall; 
Buttercups,  buttercups,  come  to  your  rest, 
Little  forget-me-not  is  all  undressed. 

"Maples  are  taking  off  dresses  of  green. 
And  in  bright  dressing-gowns  now  can  be  seen ; 
Oak  trees  are  going  more  slowly  to  bed, 
With  pretty  night-caps  of  dark  brown  and  red." 

— Addie  Litchfield. 


GOOD-BYE  TO  SUMMER 

THE    brown    birds    are    flying   like;   leaves 
Through  the  sky. 
The  flow'rets  are  calling,  "Dear  birdlings  good- 
bye !" 
The  bird  voices  falling  so  soft  from  the  sky^ 
Are  answering  the  flow'rets,   "Dear  playmates, 
good-bye !" 

— Kate  S.  Kellogg. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  Id 

OCTOBER 

HOW  THE  LEAVES  CAME  DOWN.* 

I'LL  tell  you  how  the  leaves  came  down: 
The  great  Tree  to  his  children  said, 
You're  getting  sleepy,  Yellow,  and  Brown, 
Yes,  very  sleepy,  little  Red, 
It  is  quite  time  to  go  to  bed." 

"Ah!"  begged  each  silly,  pouting  leaf, 

"Let  us  a  little  longer  stay; 
Dear  Father  Tree,  behold  our  grief, 

'Tis  such  a  very  pleasant  day 

We  do  not  want  to  go  away." 

So,  just  for  one  more  merry  day. 

To  the  great  Tree  the  leaflets  clung, 

Frolicked  and  danced  and  had  their  way. 
Upon  the  autumn  breezes  swung, 
Whispering  all  their  sports   among; 

''Perhaps  the  great  Tree  will  forget 
And  let  us  stay  until  the  spring, 

If  we  all  beg  and  coax  and  fret." 

But  the  great  Tree  did  no  such  thing ; 
He  smiled  to  hear  their  whispering. 

"Come,  children,  all  to  bed,"  he  cried ; 

And,  ere  the  leaves  could  urge  their  prayer, 

Ke  shook  his  head,  and  far  and  wide. 
Fluttering  and  rustling  everywhere, 
Down  sped  the  leaflets  through  the  air. 


80  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SECOND     YEAR  OCTOBER 

I  saw  them;  on  the  ground  they  lay, 
Golden  and  red,  a  huddled  swarm, 

Waiting  till  one  from  far  away, 

White  bedclothes  heaped  upon  her  arm, 
Should  come  to  wrap  them  safe  and  warm. 

The  great  bare  Tree  looked  down  and  smiled; 

"Good  night,  dear  little  leaves,"  he  said; 
And  from  below  each  sleepy  child 

Replied,  "Good  night,"  and  murmured, 

"It  is  so  nice  to  go  to  bed." 

— Susan  Coolidge. 

By  special  permission  of  Little,  Brown  &  Co. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  81 


SECOND     TEAS 


THE  CHESTNUT 

A  WEE  little  nut  lay  deep  in  its  nest 
Of  satin  and  down,  the  softest  and  best, 
And  slept  and  grew,  wdiile  its  cradle  rocked, 
As  it  hung  in  the  boughs  that  interlocked. 

Now  the  house  was  small  where  the  cradle  lay, 
As  it  swung  in  the  winds  by  night  and  day; 
And  a  thicket  of  under-brush  fenced  it  round. 
This  little  lone  cot,  by  the  great  sun  browned. 

The  little  nut  grew,  and  ere  long  it  found 
There  was  work  outside,  on  the  soft  green  mound ; 
It  must  do  its  part  so  the  world  might  know- 
It  had  tried  one  little  seed  to  grow. 

And  soon  the  house  that  had  kept  it  warm 
Was  tossed  about  by  the  autumn  storm; 
The  stem  was  cracked,  the  old  house  fell, 
And  the  chestnut  burr  was  an  empty  shell. 

But  the  little  seed,  as  it  waiting  lay, 
Dreamed  a  wonderful  dream  from  day  to  day, — 
Of  how  it  should  break  its  coat  of  brown. 
And  live  as  a  Tree  to  grow  up  and  down. 


82  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SECOND    TEAR 


THE  STAR 

TWINKLE,  twinkle,  little  star ; 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are ! 
Up  above  the  world  so  high, 
Like  a  diamond  in  the  sky. 

When  the  glorious  sun  is  set, 
When  the  grass  with  dew  is  wet, 
Then  you  show  your  little  light, 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  all  the  night. 

In  the  dark  blue  sky  you  keep. 
And  often  through  my  curtain  peep; 
For  you  never  shut  your  eye 
Till  the  sun  is  in  the  sky. 

And  your  bright  and  tiny  sparl: 
Lights  the  traveler  in  the  dark; 
Though  I  know  not  what  you  are. 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star. 

— lane  Taylor 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  83 

NOVEMBER 

PSALM  XXIV 

T^HE  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  the  fulness 
1  thereof;  the  world,  and  they  that  dwell 

therein : 

2.  For  he  hath  founded  it  upon  the  seas, 
and  established  it  upon  the  floods. 

3.  Who  shall  ascend  unto  the  hill  of  the 
Lord?  or  who  shall  stand  in  his  holy  place? 

4.  He  that  hath  clean  hands,  and  a  pure 
heart ;  who  hath  not  lifted  up  his  soul  unto  van- 
ity, nor  sworn  deceitfully. 

5.  He  shall  receive  the  blessing  from  the 
Lord,  and  righteousness  from  the  God  of  his 
salvation. 

6.  This  is  the  generation  of  them  that 
seek  him,  that  seek  thy  face,  O  Jacob.    Selah. 

7.  Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates ;  and  be 
ye  lift  up,  ye  everlasting  doors ;  and  the  King  of 
glorv  shall  come  in. 

8.  Who  is  this  King  of  glory  ?  The  Lord, 
strong  and  mighty,  the  Lord  mighty  in  battle.  _ 

9.  Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates ;  even  lift 
them  up,  ye  everlasting  doors ;  and  the  King 
of  glory  shall  come  in. 

10.  '  Who  is  this  King  of  glory?  The  Lord 
of  hosts,  he  is  the  King  of  glory.     Selah. 

— The  Bible. 


84  CHILD' ii  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SECOND    YEAR 


WE  THANK  THEE 

F-^OR  peace  and  for  plenty,  for  freedom,  for  rest, 
^     For  joy  in  the  land  from  the  east  to  the  west, 
For   the   dear   starry   flag,   with   its   red,   white 

and  blue. 
We  thank  thee  from  hearts  that  are  honest  and 

true. 

For  waking  and  sleeping,  for  blessings  to  be. 
We  children  would  offer  our  praises  to  thee ! 
For  God  is  our  Father  and  bends  from  above 
To  keep  the  round  world  in  the  smile  of  His  love. 
— Margaret  B.  Songster. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  85 


SECOND    TEAR 


HOW  TO  BE  HAPPY 

ARE  you  cross  and  disgusted,  my  dear  little  man  ? 
I  will  tell  you  a  wonderful  trick 
That  will  brinfj  you  contentment  if  anything  can : 
Do  something  for  somebody,  quick ! 
Do  something  for  somebody,  quick ! 

Are  you  very  tired  with  play,  little  girl? 

Weary,  discouraged  and  sick? 
I'll  tell  you  the  loveliest  game  in  the  world — 

Do  something  for  somebody — quick ! 

Do  something  for  somebody — quick! 

Though  it  rain  like  the  rain  of  the  floods,  little 
man. 
And  the  clouds  are  forbidding  and  thick, 
You  can  make  the  sun  shine  in  your  soul,  little 
man — 
Do  something  for  somebody — quick ! 
Do  something  for  somebody — quick ! 

Though  the  skies  are  like  brass  overhead,  little 
girl. 

And  the  walk  like  a  well-heated  brick ; 
And  are  all  your  affairs  in  a  terrible  whirl? 

Do  something  for  somebody — cjuick ! 

Do  something  for  somebody — auick! 


86  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

DECEMBER 

THE  TWO  LITTLE  STOCKINGS 

TWO  little  stockings  hung  side  by  side, 
Close  to  the  fire  place  broad  and  wide. 
"Two?"  said  Saint  Nick,  as  down  he  came, 
Loaded  with  toys  and  many  a  game. 
''Ho!  ho!"  said  he  with  a  laugh  of  fun, 
"I'll  have  no  cheating,  my  pretty  one; 
I  know  who  dwells  in  this  house  my  dear ; 
There's  only  one  little  girl  lives  here." 
So  he  crept  up  close  to  the  chimney  place. 
And  measured  a  sock  with  a  sober  face. 
Just  then  a  wee  little  note  fell  out, 
And  fluttered  low,  like  a  bird  about ; 
"Aha !  what's  this  ?"  said  he  in  surprise, 
As  he  pushed  his  specks  up  close  to  his  eyes, 
And  read  the  address,  in  a  child's  rough  plan, 
"Dear  Saint  Nicholas,"  so  it  began, 
"The  other  stocking  you  see  on  the  wall 
I  have  hung  for  a  child  named  Clara  Hall. 
She's  a  poor  little  girl,  but  very  good. 
So  I  thought  perhaps  you  kindly  would 
Fill  up  her  stocking  too,  tonight. 
And  help  to  make  her  Christmas  bright. 
If  you've  not  enough  for  both  stockings  there, 
Please  put  all  in  Clara's ;  I  shall  not  care." 
Saint  Nicholas  brushed  a  tear  from  his  eye, 
"God  bless  you,  darling,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 
Then  softly  he  blew  through  the  chimney  high, 
A  note  like  a  bird's  when  it  soars  on  high. 
When  down  came  two  of  the  funniest  mortals 
That  ever  were  seen  this  side  earth's  portals. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  87 

SECOND    TEAR  DECEMBER 

"Hurry  up !"  said  Saint  Nick,  and  nicely  prepare 
All  a  little  girl  wants  where  money  is  rare." 
Then,  oh,  what  a  scene  there  was  in  that  room ! 
Away  went  the  elves,  but  down  from  the  gloom 
Of  the  sooty  old  chimney  comes  tumbling  low 
A  child's  whole  wardrobe,  from  head  to  toe. 
How  Santa  laughed,  as  he  gathered  them  in 
And  fastened  each  one  to  the  sock  with  a  pin! 
Right  to  the  toe  he  hung  a  blue  dress. 
"She'll  think  it  came  from  the  sky  I  guess," 
Said  Saint  Nicholas,  smoothing  the  folds  of  blue, 
And  tying  the  hood  to  the  stockings,  too. 
When  all  the  warm  clothes  were  fastened  on. 
And  both  little  socks  were  filled  and  done, 
Then  Santa  tucked  a  toy  here  and  there. 
And  hurried  away  through  the  frosty  air, 
Saying,  "God  pity  the  poor,  and  bless  the  dear 

child 
Who  pities  them,  too,  on  this  night  so  wild !" 
The  wind  caught  the  words  and  bore  them  on 

high, 
Till  they  died  away  in  the  midnight  sky. 
While  Saint  Nicholas  flew  through  the  icy  air. 
Bringing  "peace  and  good-will  with  him  every- 
where." — Sarah  Keahles  Hunt. 


WHAT  MAKES  CHRISTMAS 

1ITTLE  wishes  on  white  wings, 
— •      Little  gifts — such  tiny  things — 
Just  one  little  heart  that  sings, 
]\Iake  a  Merry  Christmas. 

— Dorothv  Hour. 


gg  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SECOND     YEAR 


THE  WONDERFUL  WEAVER 

""PPiERE'S  a  wonderful  weaver 
1     High  up  in  the  air, 
And  he  weaves  a  white  mantle 

For  cold  earth  to  wear. 
With  the  wind  for  his  shuttle, 

The  cloud  for  his  loom. 
How  he  weaves,  how  he  weaves, 
In  the  light,  in  the  gloom. 

Oh,  with  finest  of  laces. 

He  decks  bush  and  tree; 
On  the  bare  flinty  meadows 

A  cover  lays  he. 
Then  a  quaint  cap  he  places 

On  pillar  and  post. 
And  he  changes  the  pump, 

To  a  grim  silent  ghost. 

But  this  wonderful  weaver 

Grows  weary  at  last ; 
And  the  shuttle  lies  idle 

That  once  flew  so  fast. 
Then  the  sun  peeps  abroad 

On  the  task  that  is  done. 
And  he  smiles :   "I'll   unravel 

It  all,   just  for  fun." 

— George  Cooper. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  89 


JANUARY 


NEW   YEAR'S   GREETING 

nAPPY  NEW  YEAR !"  Like  a  bell, 
Peals  the  happy  joyous  call, 
"Happy  New   Year  !"     Louder  yet ! 

"Happy  New  Year !"     One  and  all. 


JANUARY 

07  PARKLING  world  and  shining  sky, 
»— 3      Sleigh-bells  jingling,  jangling  by, 
Skates  that  gleam  and  sleds  that  fly, 
Make  up  January. 

Snowy  world  and  low  hung  cloud, 
Snowflakes  whirling  in  a  crowd, 
Winds  a-whistling  long  and  loud. 
Make  up  January. 

Snow  and  shine  and  shine  and  snow. 
Days  that  swiftly  come  and  go, 
Thirty-one  of  them,  you  know, 
Make  up  January. 


90  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SECOND    YEAR 


THE  REASON  WHY. 

TWO  ears  and  only  one  mouth  have  you ; 
The  reason,  I  think,  is  clear: 
It  teaches,  my  child,  that  it  will  not  do 
To  talk  about  all  you  hear. 

Two  eyes  and  only  one  mouth  have  you 

The  reason  for  this  must  be, 
That  you  should  learn  that  it  will  not  do 

To  talk  about  all  you  see. 

Two  hands  and  only  one  mouth  have  you 
And  it  is  worth  while  repeating 

That  two  are  for  the  work  you  will  have  to  do- 
The  one  is  enough  for  eating. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  91 

FEBRUARY 

OUR  FLAG 

nPHERE  are  many  flags  in  many  lands, 

*       There  are  flags  of  every  hue, 
But  there  is  no  flag  in  any  land 

Like  our  own  Red,  White  and  Blue. 
I  know  where  the  prettiest  colors  are, 

I'm  sure  if  I  only  knew 
How  to  get  them  here,  I  could  make  a  flag 

Of  glorious  Red,  White  and  Blue. 

I  would  cut  a  piece  from  the  evening  sky. 

Where  the  stars  were  shining  through, 
And  use  it  just  as  it  was  on  high, 

For  my  stars  and  field  of  Blue. 
Then  I  want  a  piece  of  a  fleecy  cloud, 

And  some  red  from  a  rainbow  bright, 
And  I'd  put  them  together,  side  by  side, 

For  my  stripes  of  Red  and  White. 

Then  "Hurrah  for  the  Flag !"  our  country's  flag, 
Its  stripes  and  white  stars,  too ; 

There  is  no  flag  in  any  land 

Like  our  own  Red,  White  and  Blue. 


92  CHILD'S  CALENDAR.  BEAUTIFUL 


SFCOND    YEAU 


THE  SHORTEST  MONTH 

\  « /ILL  the  winter  never  be  over, 

^^    Will  the  dark  days  never  go? 

Must  the  buttercup  and  the  clover 

Be  always  hid  under  the  snow? 

Ah,  lend  me  your  little  ear,  love! 

Hark!  'tis  a  beautiful  thing; 
The  weariest  month  of  the  year,  love,  . 

Is  shortest  and  nearest  to  spring. 

— Adeline  Whitney. 


JUST  YOU  AND  I 

IF  you  and  I — just  you  and  I — 
Should  laugh  instead  of  worry; 
If  we  should  grow — just  you  and  I — 

Kinder  and  lighter  hearted, 
Perhaps  in  some  near  by  and  by, 

A  good  time  might  get  started; 
Then  what  a  happy  time  'twould  be. 
For  you  and  me,  for  you  and  me. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  93 

MARCH 

MARCH 

/IIALLOPING,  galloping,  galloping  in, 
^-^  Into  the  world  with  a  stir  and  a  din. 
The  north  wind,  the  east  wind,  the  west  wind 

together 
In-bringing,  in-bringing  the  March's  wild  weather. 

— C.  P.  Woolson. 


WHO  HAS   SEEN  THE  WIND? 

\  .  /  HO  has  seen  the  wind? 
•^  *     Neither  I  nor  you; 
Eut  when  the  leaves  hang  trembling 
The  wind  is  passing  through. 

Who  has  seen  the  wind? 

Neither  you  nor  I ; 
But  when  the  trees  bow  down  their  heads 

The  wind  is  passing  by. 

— Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


94  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SECOND    YEAR 


PUSSY  WILLOWS 

IN  her  dress  of  silver  gray 
Comes  the  Pussy  Willow  gay, 
Like  a  little  Eskimo 
Clad  in  fur  from  tip  to  toe. 
Underneath  her  in  the  river, 
Flows  the  water  with  a  shiver. 
Downward,  sweeping  from  the  hill. 
North  Wind  whistles,  loud  and  shrill. 

Birds  are  loth  to  wing  their  flight 
To  a  land  in  such  a  plight, 
Not  another  flower  is  found 
Peeping  from  the  bark  or  ground. 
Only  Mother  Willow  knows 
How  to  make  such  suits  as  those ; 
How  to  fashion  them  with  skill, 
How  to  guard  against  the  chill. 

Did  she  live  once,  long  ago. 
In  the  land  of  ice  and  snow? 
Was  it  first  by  Polar  seas 
That  she  made  such  coats  as  these? 
Who  can  tell? — We  only  know 
Where  our  Pussy  Willows  grow. 
Fuzzy  little   friends  that  bring 
Promise   of  the   coming  spring. 

— Elisabeth  E.  Poulke. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  95 

APRIL 

AN  APRIL  DAY 

TAKE  a  dozen  little  clouds 
And  a  little  patch  of  blue ; 
Take  a  million  raindrops 
As  many  sunbeams  too. 

Take  a  host  of  violets, 

A  wandering  little  breeze, 
And  myriads  of  little  leaves 

Dancing  on  the  trees. 

Then  mix  them  well  together, 

In  the  very  quickest  way, 
Showers  and  sunshine,  birds  and  flowers, 

And  you'll  have  an  April  day. 

— Rachel  G.  Smith, 


THE  SWEET  RED  ROSE 

GOOD  morning,  little  rose-bush, 
ISiow  prithee,  tell  me  true, 
To  be  as  sweet  as  a  red,  red  rose. 
What  must  a  body  do? 

To  be  as  sweet  as  a  red,  red  rose, 

A  little  girl  like  you 
Just  grows,  and  grows,  and  grows. 

And  that's  what  she  must  do. 

— Joel  Stacy. 


9G  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SECOND     YEAR 


WHAT  ROBIN  TOLD 

|— jOW  do  robins  build  their  nest? 
*  *     Robin  Redbreast  told  me. 
First  a  wisp  of  yellow  hay 
In  a  pretty  round  they  lay ; 
Then  some  shreds  of  downy  floss, 
Feathers  too,  and  bits  of  moss, 
Woven  with  a  sweet,  sweet  song. 
This  way,  that  way  and  across ; 
That's  what  Robin  told  me. 
Where  do  Robins  hide  their  nest? 

Robin  Redbreast  told  me. 
Up  among  the  leaves  so  deep, 
Where  the  sunbeams  rarely  creep, 
Long  before  the  winds  are  cold 
Long  before  the  leaves  are  gold 
Bright-eyed  stars  will  peep  and  see 
Baby  robins — one,  two,  three  ; 
That's  what  Robin  told  me. 

— George  Cooper. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  97 


MAY 


MAY 

Oa  dear  little  maiden  is  dainty  Miss  May, 
And  she  has  such  a  pleasant  and  sweet  win- 
ning way, 
That  we  long  to  be  out  and  be  with  her  all  day. 

She  comes  over  the  meadows  and  into  the  town 
All  embroidered  with  lilacs  her  beautiful  gown, 
And  her  bonnet  of  buttercups  way  to  the  crown. 

When  she  smiles  all  the  clouds  disappear  from 

the  skies, 
For  there's  seldom  a  tear  to  be  seen  in  those  eyes, 
Whose  color  to  match  the  forget-me-not  tries. 

And  to  show  how  they  love  her,  their  own  dar- 
ling May, 
'Tis  with  blushes  as  pink  as  the  dawn  of  the  day, 
That  each  apple  tree  turns  to  a  blooming  bouquet. 
— Ada  Stewart  Sheldon. 


9S  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BJiiAUTIFVL 


SECOND    TEAR 


SPRING 

THE  alder  by  the  river 
Shakes  out  her  powdery  curls ; 
The  willow   buds  in  silver 
For  little  boys  and  girls. 

The  little  birds  fly  over, 

And  oh  how  sweet  they  sing, 

To  tell  the  happy  children 

That  once  again  'tis  spring. 

The  gay  green  grass  comes  creeping 

So  soft  beneath  their  feet ; 
The  frogs  begin  to  ripple 

A  music  clear  and  sweet. 

And  buttercups  are  coming 

And  scarlet  columbine 
And  in  the  sunny  meadows 

The  dandelions  shine. 

And  just  as  many  daisies 

As  their  soft  hands  can  hold. 

The  little  ones  may  gather 

All  fair  in  white  and  gold. 

Here  blows  the  warm  red  clover, 

There  peeps  the  violet  blue; 
Oh,  happy  little  children, 

God  made  them  all  for  you. 

— Celia  Thaxter. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  99 


(lECOND   TEAR 


THE  LILAC 

THE  sun  shone  warm,  and  the  lilac  said, 
"I  must  hurry  and  get  my  table  spread, 
For  if  I  am  slow  and  dinner  late, 
My  friends  the  bees  will  have  to  wait." 

So  delicate  lavender  glass  she  brought 
And  the  daintiest  china  ever  wrought. 
Purple  tinted  and  all  complete ; 
And  she  filled  each  cup  with  honey  sweet. 

"Dinner  is  ready,"  the  spring  wind  cried; 
And  from  hive  and  hiding  far  and  wide. 
While  the  lilac  laughed  to  see  them  come, 
The  little  gray- jacketed  bees  came  hum — m! 

They  sipped  the  sirup  from  every  cell, 

They  nibbled  at  taiTy  and  caramel; 

Then,  without  being  asked,  they  all  buzzed,  "We 

Will  be  very  happy  to  stay  to  tea." 

— Clara  Doty  Bates. 


100  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


JUlNfE 


THE  BLUEBELL 

^''HERE  is  a  story  I  have  heard, 
A  poet  learned  it  from  a  bird, 
And  kept  its  music  every  word. 

About  two  thousand  years  ago 
A  Uttle  flower  as  white  as  snow 
Swayed  in  the  silence  to  and  fro. 

Day  after  day,  with  longing  eye, 
The  floweret  watched  the  narrow  sky 
And  fleecy  clouds  that  floated  by. 

And  swiftly  o'er  its  petals  white, 
There  crept  a  blueness  like  the  light 
Of  skies  upon  a  summer  night. 

And  in  the  chalice  I  am  told 
The  bonny  bell  was  found  to  hold 
A  tiny  star  that  gleamed  like  gold. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  101 


SECOND    YEAR 


THE  SILVER  BOAT 

THERE  is  a  boat  upon  a  sea ; 
It  never  stops  for  you  or  me. 
The  sea  is  blue,  the  boat  is  white ; 
It  sails  through  winter  and  summer  night. 

The  swarthy  child  in  India  land 
Points  to  the  prow  with  eager  hand ; 
The  little  Lapland  babies  cry 
For  the  silver  boat  a-sailing  by. 

It  fears  no  gale,  it  fears  no  wreck; 
It  never  meets  a  change  or  check, 
Through  weather  fine  or  weather  mild, 
The  oldest  saw  it  when  a  child. 

Upon  another  sea  below 
Full  many  vessels  come  and  go ; 
Upon  the  swaying,  swinging  tide 
Into  the  distant  worlds  they  ride. 

And  strange  to  tell,  the  sea  below, 
Where  countless  vessels  come  and  go. 
Obeys  the  little  boat  on  high 
Through  all  the  centuries  sailing  by. 

— Mary  F.  Butts. 


102  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


gECOND    TBAB 


THE  VIOLET 

DOWN  in  a  green  and  shady  bed 
A  modest  violet  grew, 
Its  stalk  was  bent,  it  hung  its  head, 
As  if  to  hide  from  view. 

And  yet  it  was  a  lovely  flower, 

Its  colors  bright  and  fair! 
It  might  have  graced  a   rosy  bower 

Instead  of  hiding  there. 

Yet  there  it  was  content  to  bloom 

In  modest  tints  arrayed; 
And  there  diffused  its  sweet  perfume 

Within  the  silent  shade. 

Then  let  me  to  the  valley  go, 

This  pretty  flower  to  see, 
That  I  may  also  learn  to  grow 

In  sweet  humility. 

— Jane  Taylor. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  103 

JXJIL.Y 

THE  HUMMING-BIRD 

O  DAINTY,  "living  sunbeam" 
With  gorgeous  colors  bright, 
Show  me  your  ruby  necklace, 

And  gauzy  wings  so  light; 
Just  pause  one  little  moment 

Before  the  open  door, 
And  whisper  low  the  secret 

You  found  within  that  flower. 


LADY  MOON 

LADY  Moon,  lady  moon, 
Sailing  so  high! 
Drop  down  to  baby 

From  out  the  clear  sky; 
Babykin,  babykin, 

Down  far  below, 
I  hear  thee  calling. 
But  I  cannot  go. 

But  lady  moon  sendeth  thee 

Soft  shining  rays ; 
Moon  loves  the  baby. 

The  moonlight  says. 
In  her  house  dark  and  blue, 

Though  she  must  stay, 
KinGly  she'll  watch  thee 

Till  dawns  the  new  day. 

— Lord  Houghton. 


104  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SECOND    TEJJt 


THE  WASP  AND  THE  BEE 

A    wasp  met  a  Bee  that  was  just  buzzing  by, 
And  said,  "Little  cousin,  can  3-ou  tell  me  why 
You  are  loved  so  much  better  by  people  than  I? 

My  back  shines  as  bright  and  as  yellow  as  gold, 
And  my  shape  is  most  elegant  too,  to  behold; 
Yet  nobody  likes  me  for  that  I  am  told." 

"Ah  friend,"  said  the  Bee,  "it  is  all  very  true. 
And  were  I  but  half  as  much  mischief  to  do. 
Then  people  would  love  me  no  better  than  you. 

"You  have  a  fine  shape,  and  a  delicate  wing; 
You  are  perfectly  handsome,   but  there  is   one 

thing 
They  can  never  put  up  with,  and  that  is  your 

sting. 

"My  coat  is  quite  homely  and  plain  as  you  see, 
Yet  nobody  ever  is  angry  with  me. 
Because  I'm  a  useful  and  innocent  Bee." 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  105 


ATJGTJST 


IF  I  WERE  A  SUNBEAM. 

IF  I  were  a  sunbeam, 
I  know  what  I  would  do ; 
I  would  seek  white  lilies 

Rainy  woodlands  through; 
I  would  steal  among  them, 
Softest  light  I'd  shed, 
Until  every  lily 

Raised  its  drooping  head. 

If  I  were  a  sunbeam, 

I  know  where  I  would  go; 
Into  lowliest  hovels 

Dark  with  want  and  woe ; 
Till  sad  hearts  looked  upv/ard, 

I  would  shine  and  shine ; 
Then  they'd  think  of  heaven. 

Their  sweet  home  and  mine. 

Art  thou  not  a  sunbeam. 

Child,  whose  life  is  glad, 
With  an  inner  radiance 

Sunshine  never  had? 
Oh,  as  God  has  blessed  thee, 

Scatter  rays  divine ! 
For  there  is  no  sunbeam 

But  must  die  or  shine. 


106  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


BECOKD   TEAS 


THE  CITY  MOUSE  AND  THE  COUNTRY 
MOUSE 

THE  city  mouse  lives  in  a  house; — 
The  garden  mouse  Hves  in  a  bower, 
He's  friendly  with  the  frogs  and  toads, 
And  sees  the  pretty  plants  in  flower. 

The  city  mouse  eats  bread  and  cheese; — 
The  garden  mouse  eats  what  he  can; 

We  will  not  grudge  him  seeds  and  stocks, 
Poor  little  timid  furry  man. 

— Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


LOVE 

THE  night  has  a  thousand  eyes. 
The  day  btit  one; 
Yet  the  light  of  the  bright  world  dies 
With  the  dying  sun. 

The  mind  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the  heart  but  one ; 
Yet  the  light  of  a  whole  life  dies 

When  love  is  done. 

— Francis  Boiirdillon. 


TMIRD  YEAR 

True  worth  is  in  being,  not  seeming, 
In  doing  each  day  that  goes  by 

Some  little  good — not  in  the  dreaming 
Of  great  things  to  do  by  and  by. 

— Alice  Gary. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  109 

SEPTEMBER 

.  SEPTEMBER* 

THE  golden-rod  is  yellow; 
The  corn  is  turning  brown; 
The  trees  in  apple  orchards 

With  fruit  are  bending  down. 

The  gentian's  bluest  fringes 

Are  curling  in  the  sun; 
In  dusty  pods  the  milkweed 

Its  hidden  silk  has  spun. 

The  sedges  flaunt  their  harvest, 

In  every  meadow  nook ; 
The  asters  by  the  brook-side 

Make  asters  in  the  brook. 

From  dewy  lanes  at  morning 
The  grape's  sweet  odors  rise; 

At  noon  the  roads  all  flutter 
With  yellow  butterflies. 

By  all  these  lovely  tokens 

September  days  are  here, 
With  summer's  best  of  weather, 

And  autumn's  best  of  cheer. 

— Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 


'By  special  permission  of  Little,  Brown  and  Company. 


110  CHILD'S  CALENDAK  BEAUTIFUL 


THIBD    TEAS 


QUEER  LITTLE  HISTORIANS 

JUST  a  raindrop  loitering  earthward, 
Q)  All  alone, 

Leaves  a  tiny  "tell  tale  story" 
In  the  stone. 

Gravel,  tossed  by  teasing  water, 

Down  the  hill, 
Shows  where  once  in  merry  laughter 

Flowed  a  rill. 

In  the  coal  bed,  dark  and  hidden, 

Ferns,  (how  queer!) 
Left  a  message,  plainly  saying, 

"We've  been  here." 

You  may  see  where  tiny  ripples 

On  the  sands, 
Leave  a  history  written  by  their 

Unseen  hands. 

Why,  the  oak  trees,  by  their  bending 

Clearly  show 
The  direction  playful  winds  blew, 

Years  ago! 

So  our  habits  tell  us,  little 

Maids  and  men. 
What  the  history  of  our  whole  past 

Life  has  been. 

— Adelhert  P.  Caldwell. 


CHILD'S  C ALE'S DAR  BEAUTIFUL  111 


OCTOBER 

OCTOBER'S  BRIGHT  BLUE  WEATHER* 

Osuns  and  skies  and  clouds  of  June, 
And  flowers  of  June  together, 
Ye  cannot  rival  for  one  hour 

October's  bright  blue  weather. 

When  loud  the  bumble-bee  makes  haste. 

Belated,  thriftless  vagrant, 
And  Golden-Rod  is  dying  fast. 

And  lanes  with  grapes  are  fragrant; 

When  Gentians  roll  their  fringes  tight. 
To  save  them  for  the  morning, 

And  chestnuts  fall  from  satin  burrs 
Without  a  sound  of  warning; 

When  on  the  ground  red  apples  lie 
In  piles  like  jewels  shining, 

And  redder  still  on  old  stone  walls 
Are  leaves  of  woodbine  twining; 

When  all  the  lovely  wayside  things 

Their  white-winged  seeds  are  sowing, 

And  in  the  fields,  still  green  and  fair, 
Late  aftermaths  are  growing; 

When  springs  run  low,  and  on  the  brooks, 

In  idle  golden  freighting. 
Bright  leaves  sink  noiseless  in  the  hush 

Of  woods,  for  winter  waiting; 


112  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

TraRD    TKAR  OCTOBEB 

When  comrades  seek  sweet  country  haunts, 
By  twos  and  twos  together, 

And  count  Hke  misers  hour  by  hour, 
October's  bright  blue  weather. 

O,  sun  and  skies  and  flowers  of  June, 
Count  all  your  boasts  together, 

Love  loveth  best  of  all  the  year 
October's  bright  blue  weather. 

— Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 

•By  special  permission  of  Little,  Brown  and  Company. 


A  FABLE 

THE  mountain  and  the  squirrel 
Had  a  quarrel, 
And  the  former  called  the  latter  "Little  Prig;" 
Bun  replied, 

'"You  are  doubtless  very  big; 
But  all  sorts  of  things  and  weather 
Must  be  taken  in  together. 
To  make  up  a  year 
And  a  sphere. 
And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 
To  occupy  my  place. 
If  I'm  not  so  large  as  you, 
You  are  not  so  small  as  I, 
And  not  half  so  spry. 
I'll  not  deny  you  make 
A  very  pretty  squirrel  track ; 
Talents  differ;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put; 
If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back. 
Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut." 

— R.  W.  Bmerson. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  113 


NOVEMBER 


PSALM  I 

BLESSED  is  the  man  that  walketh  not  in 
the  counsel  of  the  ungodly,  nor  standeth 
in  the  way  of  sinners,  nor  sitteth  in  the  seat  of 
the  scornful, 

2.  But  his  delight  is  in  the  law  of  the 
Lord ;  and  in  His  law  doth  he  meditate  day  and 
night. 

3.  And  he  shall  be  like  a  tree  planted  by 
the  rivers  of  water,  that  bringeth  forth  his  fruit 
in  his  season ;  his  leaf  also  shall  not  wither ;  and 
whatsoever  he  doeth  shall  prosper. 

4.  The  ungodly  are  not  so:  but  are  like 
the  chaff  which  the  wind  driveth  away. 

5.  Therefore  the  ungodly  shall  not  stand 
in  the  judgment,  nor  sinners  in  the  congregation 
of  the  righteous. 

6.  For  the  Lord  knoweth  the  way  of  the 
righteous :  but  the  way  of  the  ungodly  shall 
perish. 

—The  Bib!e. 


114  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


T 


THIRD    TEAR  K0\  EMBEa 

NOVEMBER 

'HE  leaves  are  fading  and  falling, 

The  winds  are  rough  and  wild, 

The  birds  have  ceased  their  calling, 

But  let  me  tell  you,  my  child, 

Though  day  by  day,  as  it  closes, 
Doth  darker  and  colder  grow. 

The  roots  of  the  bright  red  roses 
Will  keep  alive  in  the  snow\ 

And  when  the  winter  is  over, 

The  boughs  will  get  new  leaves, 

The  quail  come  back  to  the  clover, 

And  the  swallow  back  to  the  eaves. 

The  robin  will  wear  on  his  bosom 
A  vest  that  is  bright  and  new. 

And  the  loveliest  wayside  blossom 
Will  shine  with  the  sun  and  dew. 

The  leaves  today  are  whirling, 

The  brooks  are  all  dry  and  dumb, 

But  let  me  tell  you,  my  darling. 

The  spring  will  be  sure  to  come. 

There  must  be  rough,  cold  weather. 
And  winds  and  rains  so  wild ; 

Not  all  good  things  together 
Come  to  us  here,  my  child. 

So,  when  some  dear  joy  loses 
Its  beauteous  summer  glow. 

Think  how  the  roots  of  the  roses 
Are  kept  alive  in  the  snow. 

— Alice  Gary. 


CHILD' a  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  116 


DECEMBER 

THE   LITTLE   FIR  TREES 

nEY!  little  evergreens, 
Sturdy  and  strong! 
Summer  and  autumn  time 

Hasten  along. 
Harvest  the  sunbeams,  then, 

Bind  them  in  sheaves, 
Range  them,  and  change  them 
To  tufts  of  green  leaves. 
Delve  in  the  mellow  mold, 
Far,  far  below. 

And  so, 
Little  evergreens,  grow! 
Grow,  grow ! 
Grow,  little  evergreens,  grow! 

Up,  up  so  airily 

To  the  blue  sky, 
Lift  up  your  leafy  tips 

Stately  and  high; 
Clasp  tight  your  tiny  cones, 

Tawny  and  brown; 
By  and  by,  buffeting 

Rains  will  pelt  down; 
By  and  by,  bitterly 

Chill  winds  will  blow ; 
And  so. 

Little  evergreens,  grow  1 
Grow,  grow ! 
Grow,  little  evergreens,  grow! 


116  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


THIRD     YEAB 


Gather  all  uttermost 

Beauty,  because, 
Hark,  till  I  tell  it  now ! 

How  Santa  Claus, 
Out  of  the  northern  land, 

Over  the  seas, 
Soon  shall  come  seeking  you, 

Evergreen  trees ! 
Seek  you  with  reindeer,  soon, 

Over  the  snow; 
And  so, 

Little  evergreens,  grow  1 
Grow,  grow ! 
Grow,  little  evergreens,  grow! 

What  if  the  maples  flare 

Flaunting  and  red. 
You  shall  wear  waxen  white 

Tapers  instead! 
What  if  now,  otherwhere. 

Birds  are  beguiled. 
You  shall  yet  nestle 

The  little  Christ-child! 
Ah,  the  strange  splendor 

The  fir  trees  shall  know! 
And  so, 

Little  evergreens,  grow! 
Grow,  grow! 
Grow,  little  evergreens,  grow! 

— Evaleen  Stein. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  117 

JANUARY 

HOLIDAY  GIFTS 

WHY  do  yott  look  so  downcast? 
What  do  I  hear  you  say? 
"Nothing  to  give  to  people 

On  Christmas  or  New  Year's  day?" 
You  want  to  be  making  presents? 
Well,  now,  just  think  a  while; 
Suppose  you  look  in  the  glass,  dear, 

And  present   yourself  with   a  smile. 

Then  make  up  a  bundle  of  troubles 

And  give  them  away  to  the  Past, 
He  owns  such  a  musty  junkshop 

Where  worn-out  worries   are   cast. 
Just  bundle  them  on  to  the  Old  Year, 

And  let  him  lug  them  away, 
And  next  give  a  heart  of  hope  dear. 

To  the  New  Year,  blithe  and  gay. 


TALKING  IN  THEIR  SLEEP 

\VOU  think  I  am  dead," 

I      The  apple  tree  said, 
■'Because  I  have  never  a  leaf  to  show — 

Because  I  stoop. 

And  my  branches  droop, 
And  the  dull  gray  mosses  over  me  grow ! 

But  I'm  all  alive  in  trunk  and  shoot ; 
The  buds  of  next  May 
I  fold  away — 

But  I  pity  the  withered  grass  at  my  r(X)t. 


118  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

THIRD    YEAR  JASUARY 

"You  think  I  am  dead," 

The  quick  grass  said, 
"Because  I  have  parted  with  stem  and  blade; 

But  under  the  ground 

I  am  safe  and  sound 
With  the  snow's  thick  blanket  over  me  laid. 
I'm  all  alive,  and  ready  to  shoot, 

Should  the  spring  of  the  year 

Come  dancing  here — 
But  I  pity  the  flower  without  branch  or  root." 

"You  think  I  am  dead," 

A  soft  voice  said, 
"Because  not  a  branch  or  root  I  own ! 

I  never  have  died. 

But  close  I  hide. 
In  a  plumy  seed  that  the  wind  has  sown, 
Patient  I  wait  through  the  long  winter  hours; 

You  will  see  me  again — 

I  shall  laugh  at  you  then. 
Out  of  the  eyes  of  a  hundred  flowers," 

— Bdith  M.  Thomas. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  119 


FEBRUARY 


WAITING  TO  GROW 

LITTLE  white  snowdrop  just  waking  up, 
Violet,  daisy,  and  sweet  buttercup; 
Think  of  the  flowers  that  are  under  the  snow 
Waiting  to  grow ! 

And  think  what  hosts  of  queer  Httle  seeds, 
Of  flowers  and  mosses,  of  ferns  and  weeds 
Are  under  the  leaves,  and  under  the  snow, 
Waiting  to  grow ! 

Think  of  the  roots  getting  ready  to  sprout. 
Reaching  their  slender  brown  fingers  about, 
Under  the  ice,  and  the  leaves,  and  the  snow. 
Waiting  to  grow ! 

Only  a  month  or  a  few  weeks  more 
Will  you  have  to  wait  behind  that  door; 
Listen  and  Avatch — and  wait — below, 
Waiting  to  grow ! 

Nothing  so  small,  and  hidden  so  well. 
That  God  will  not  find  it,  and  presently  tell 
His  sun  where  to  shine,  and  his  rain  where  to  j^'O, 
To  help  it  to  grow ! 


120  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


THIRD     YEAR 


THE  RED,  WHITE,  AND  BLUE 

OH  Columbia,  the  gem  of  the  ocean. 
The  home  of  the  brave  and  the  free, 
The  shrine  of  each  patriot's  devotion, 
A  world  offers  homage  to  thee ; 
Thy  mandates  make  heroes  assemble, 

When  liberty's  form  stands  in  view ; 
Thy  banners  make  tyranny  tremble 

When  borne  by  the  Red,  White,  and  Blue. 

When  war  waged  its  wide  desolation 

And  threatened  the  land  to  deform, 
The  ark  then  of  freedom's   foundation, 

Columbia  rode  safe  through  the  storm; 
With  the  garlands  of  victory  around  her. 

When  so  proudly  she  bore  her  brave  crew, 
With  her  flag  floating  proudly  before  her 

The  boast  of  the  Red,  White,  and  Blue. 

The  star  spangled  banner  bring  hither, 

O'er  Columbia's  true  sons  let  it  wave ; 
May  the  wreaths  they  have  won  never  wither. 

Nor  its  stars  cease  to  shine  on  the  brave ; 
May  the  service  united  ne'er  sever 

But  hold  to  their  colors  so  true; 
The  army  and  navy  forever ! 

Three  cheers  for  the  Red,  White,  and  Blue. 

— D.  T.  Shatu. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  121 


MARCH 


WHAT  MARCH  DOES 

IN  the  dark  silence  of  her  chamber  low, 
March  works  sweeter  things  than  mortals  know. 
Her  noiseless  looms  ply  on  with  busy  care, 
Weaving  the  fine  cloth  that  the  flowers  wear; 
She  sews  the  seams  in  violet's  queer  hood, 
And  paints  the  sweet  arbutus  of  the  wood. 
Out  of  a  bit  of  sky's  delicious  blue 
She  fashions  hyacinths,  and  harebells,  too; 
And  from  a  sunbeam  makes  a  cowslip  fair. 
Or  spins  a  gown  for  a  daffodil  to  wear. 
She  pulls  the  cover  from  the  crocus  beds 
And  bids  the  sleepers  lift  their  drowsy  heads. 
"Come,  early  risers ;  come  anemone. 
My  pale  windflower,  awake,  awake,"  calls  she. 
''The  world  expects  you,  and  your  lovers  wait 
To  give  you  welcome  at   Spring's  open  gate." 
She  marshals  the  close  armies  of  the  grass. 
And  polishes  their  green  blades  as  they  pass. 
And  all  the  blossoms  of  the  fruit  trees  sweet 
Are  piled  in  rosy  shells  about  her  feet. 
Within  her  great  alembic  she  distills 
The  dainty  odor  which  each  flower  fills. 
Nor  does  she  ever  give  to  mignonette 
The  perfume  that  belongs  to  violet. 
Nature  does  well  whatever  task  she  tries 
Because  obedient, — there  the  secret  lies. 

— May  Riley  Smith. 


122  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


THIRD     TEAR 


SIR  ROBIN 

P)OLLICKING  Robin  is  here  again. 
'*'  What  does  he  care  for  the  April  rain  ? 
Care  for  it?    Glad  of  it!     Doesn't  he  know 
That  the  April  rain  carries  off  the  snow, 
And  coaxes  out  leaves  to  shadow  his  nest, 
And  washes  his  pretty  red  Easter  vest. 
And  makes  the  juice  of  the  cherry  sweet. 
For  his  hungry  little  robins  to  eat? 
"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  hear  the  jolly  bird  laugh. 
''That  isn't  the  best  of  the  story,  by  half !" 

Robin,  Sir  Robin,  gay  red-vested  knight. 
Now  you  have  come  to  us,  summer's  in  sight. 
You  never  dreamed  of  the  wonders  you  bring, 
Visions  that  follow  the  flash  of  your  wing. 
How  all  the  beautiful  by  and  by 
Around  you  and  after  you  seems  to  fly! 
Sing  on,  or  eat  on,  as  pleases  your  mind ! 
Well  have  you  earned  every  morsel  you  find. 
"Aye!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  whistles  Robin,  "My  dear, 
Let  us  all  take  our  own  choice  of  good  cheer!" 

— Lucy  Larcom. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  123 


APRIX. 


THE  TENDRIL'S  FAITH 

UNDER  the  snow  in  the  dark  and  the  cold 
A  pale  little  tendril  was  humming; 
Sweetly  it  sang  'neath  the  frozen  mold 

Of  the  beautiful  days  that  were  coming. 

"How  foolish  your  songs,"  said  a  lump  of  clay; 

"What  is  there,  I  ask,  to  prove  them? 
Just  look  at  these  walls  between  you  and  the  day,^^ 

How  can  you  have  power  to  remove  them  ?" 

But  under  the  ice  and  under  the  snow, 
The  pale  little  sprout  kept  singing, 

"I  cannot  tell  how,  but  I  know,  I  know — 
I  know  what  the  days  are  bringing. 

"Birds  and  blossoms  and  buzzing  bees, 

Blue,  blue  skies  above  me; 
Bloom  on  the  meadow,  and  buds  on  the  trees. 

And  the  great  glad  sun  to  love  me." 

Then  a  pebble  spoke  up :  "You  are  quite  absurd," 
It  said,  "with  your  song's  insistence; 

For  I  never  saw  a  tree  or  a  bird. 

So  of  course  there  are  none  in  existence." 

But,  "I  know,  I  know,"  the  tendril  cried, 

In  beautiful  sweet   unreason. 
Till  lo,  from  its  prison,  glorified 

It  burst  in  the  glad  spring  season. 

— Blla  Wheeler  Wilcox. 


124  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

THIRD    YEAR  APRIL 

AGREED   TO  DISAGREE 

A  mouse,  a  cricket,  a  bumblebee 
Started  out  in  the  sweet  spring  weather. 
"Let's  all  agree," 
Said  the  bumblebee, 
"To  build  us  a  house  and  live  together." 
"I'm  willing  to  try," 
Said  the  cricket  spry. 
Said  dear  little  mousie,  "So  am  I." 

"Under  the  porch,  away  down  low," 
The  cricket  chirruped  in  rare   delight, 

"Is  the  place,  I  know, 

For  us  to  go ; 
There's  not  the  tiniest  ray  of  light ! 

We'll  hide  away 

From  the  dazzling  day, 
And   chirrup   and   buzz   and   squeak   all   night." 

Said  the  mouse,  "O  dear, 

I  fear,  I  fear 
Such  a  place  would  be  so  dark  and  drear !" 

"Away,  'way  up  in  the  elm  tree  high," 
Said  the  bumblebee,  "is  a  cozy  nook. 

In  the  early  light 

Of  the  morning  bright 
A  royal  place.    Let  us  go  and  look," 

Said  the  cricket,  "Why, 

As  I  can  not  fly, 
I  never  could  think  of  going  so  high." 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  125 

Said  the  Mistress  Mouse,  "The  finest  spot 
Is  out  in  the  field  of  growing  wheat ; 

We'll  build  a  dot 

Of  a  nest — why  not? — 
Convenient,  cozy,  and  snug  and  sweet." 

Said  the  bumblebee, 

"Dear  me,  dear  me ! 
Such  a  house  would  never  do  for  three." 

Well,  Mistress  Mouse 

Built  a  wee,  wee  house. 
And  cuddled  under  the  sun-warmed  hay. 

The  bumblebee 

From  his  hole  in  the  tree 
Buzzed  and  hummed  through  the  sunny  day. 

While  the  cricket  stole 

To  the  darkest  hole 
And  chirruped  till  morning's  earliest  ray. 
And  though  they  could  never  live  together. 
All  rejoiced  in  the  sweet  spring  weather. 

— Sydney  Dayre. 


126  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


MAY 

THE  FOUR  SUNBEAMS 

rOUR  little  sunbeams  came  earthward  one  day, 
Shining  and  dancing  along  on  their  way, 
Resolved  that  their  course  should  be  blest. 
"Let  us  try,"  they  all  whispered,  "some  kindness 

to  do, 
Not  seek  our  own  pleasuring  all  the  day  through. 

Then  meet  in  the  eve  at  the  west." 
One  sunbeam  ran  in  at  a  low  cottage  door, 
And  played  "hide-and-seek"  with  a  child  on  the 
floor, 
Till  baby  laughed  loud  in  his  glee, 
And  chased  with  delight  his  strange  playmate  so 

bright, 
The  little  hands  grasping  in  vain  for  the  light 

That  ever  before  them  would  flee. 
One  crept  to  the  couch  where  an  invalid  lay. 
And  brought  him  a  dream  of  the  sweet  summer 
day, 
Its  bird-song  and  beauty  and  bloom; 
Till  pain  was  forgotten  and  weary  unrest. 
And  in  fancy  he  roamed  through  the  scenes  he 
loved  best. 
Far  away  from  the  dim  darkened  room. 
One  stole  to  the  heart  of  a  flower  that  was  sad, 
And  loved  and  caressed  her  until  she  was  glad 

And  lifted  her  white  face  again; 
For  love  brings  content  to  the  lowliest  lot, 
And  finds  something  sweet  in  the  dreariest  spot, 
And  lightens  all  labor  and  pain. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  127 


THIRD    YEAR 


And  one,  where  a  little  blind  girl  sat  alone, 
Not  sharing  the  mirth  of  her  playfellows,  shone 

On  hands  that  were  folded  and  pale, 
And  kissed  the  poor  eyes  that  had  never  known 

sight. 
That  never  would  gaze  on  the  beautiful  light 

Till  angels  had  lifted  the  veil. 

At  last  when  the  shadows  of  evening  were  falling. 
And  the  sun,  their  great  father,  his  children  was 
calling, 
Four  sunbeams  sped  into  the  west. 
All  said,   "We  have  found  that  in  seeking  the 

pleasure 
Of  others,  we  fill  to  the  full  our  own  measure," — 
Then  softly  they  sank  to  their  rest. 

—M.  K.  B. 


A  SONG 

THE  year's  at  the  spring. 
And  day's  at  the  morn; 
jVIorning's  at  seven; 
The  hill-side's  dew-pearled; 
The  lark's  on  the  wing; 
The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 
God's  in   His  heaven — 
All's  right  with  the  world. 
— From  Pippa  Passes,  Robert  Brozvning. 


128  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 

ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN 

/V\  ERRILY  swinging  on  briar  and  weed, 
I     V  Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 

Over  the  mountain  side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  drest, 

Wearing  a  bright  black  wedding-coat; 
White  are  his  shoulders  and  white  his  crest. 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Look,  what  a  nice  new  coat  is  mine. 
Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife, 

Pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain  brown  wings, 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  life. 

Broods  in  the  grass  while  her  husband  sings : 
Bob-o'-link.  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Brood,  kind  creature ;  you  need  not  fear 
Thieves  and  robbers  while  I  am  here, 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


CHILD- 8  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  129 


THIRD     TEAR 


Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she; 

One  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note. 
Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 
Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man; 
Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can! 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay. 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight! 
There  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Nice  good  wife,  that  never  goes  out. 
Keeping  house  while  I  froHc  about. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell. 

Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well. 

Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood. 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 


130  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

THIRD     TEAR  JTJN! 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made 

Sober  with  work,  and  silent  with  care ; 
Off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid, 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air: 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Nobody  knows  but  my  mate  and  I 
Where  our  nest  and  our  nestlings  lie. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Summer  wanes ;  the  children  are  grown ; 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln's  a  humdrum  crone ; 
Off  he  flies  and  we  sing  as  he  goes : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain, 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

— IVilliam  Ciillen  Bryant. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  131 


THIRD    TEAR 


WINGED  SEEDS 

O    gold-green  wings  and  bronze-green  wings, 
And  rose  tinged  wings  that  down  the  breeze 
Come  saiHng  from  the  maple  trees ! 
You  showering  things,  you  shimmering  things, 
That  June-time  always  brings! 
O,  are  you  seeds  that  seek  the  earth, 
The  shade  of  lovely  leaves  to  spread. 
Or  shining  angels,  that  had  birth 
When  kindly  words  were  said? 

O,  downy  dandelion  wings, 

Wild-floating  wings,   like   silver   spun, 
That  dance  and  glisten  in  the  sun! 

You  airy  things,  you  elfin  things. 

That  June-time  always  brings ! 

O,  are  you  seeds  that  seek  the  earth. 

The  light  of  laughing  flowers  to  spread? 

Or  flitting  fairies  that  had  birth 
When  merry  words  were  said? 

— Helen  Gray  Cone. 


132  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


JULY 


THE  THROSTLE 

SUMMER  is  coming,  summer  is  coming, 
I  know  it,  I  know  it,  I  know  it. 
Light  again,  leaf  again,  life  again,  love  again," 
Yes,  my  wild  little  Poet. 

Sing  the  new  year  in  under  the  blue. 

Last  year  you  sang  it  as  gladly. 
"New,  new,  new,  new !"  Is  it  then  so  new 

That  you  should  carol  so  madly? 

"Love  again,  song  again,  nest  again,young  again" 

Never  a  prophet  so  crazy ! 
And  hardly  a  daisy  as  yet,  little  friend, 
See,  there  is  hardly  a  daisy. 

"Here  again,  here,  here,  here,  happy  year!" 

O  warble  unchidden,  unbidden ! 
Summer  is  coming,  is  coming  my  dear. 

And  all  the  winters  are  hidden. 

— Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  133 


THIRD    TEAR 


THE  FORGET-ME-NOT 

WHEN  to  the  flowers  so  beautiful 
The  Father  gave  a  name, 
Back  came  a  little  blue-eyed  one, — 
All  timidly  it  came. 

And  standing  at  the  Father's  feet 
And  gazing  on  His  face, 

It  said,  in  meek  and  timid  voice, 
Yet  with  a  gentle  grace: 

"Dear  Lord,  the  name  Thou  gavest  me, 

Alas,  I  have  forgot." 
The  Father  kindly  looked  on  her 

And   said,   "Forget-me-not." 


134  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

AUGUST 

EARTH  TO  AIR 

A  little  worm  on  branch  of  gray, 
Began  his  work  one  summer  day. 
He  planned  and  built,  he  wove  and  spun, 
Until  his  tiny  house  was  done. 
He  laid  the  walls  with  leaf-green  rails; 
He  set  the  roof  with  golden  nails ; 
He  wove  a  sheet  of  softest  lace, 
And  in  its  folds  himself  found  place. 
He  slept  and  in  the  dark  of  night. 
Upon  his  sides  grew  wings  of  light. 
The  shining  house  became  a  veil. 
And  gone  was  every  golden  nail. 
Through  the  thin  walls  of  gauze  I  spied 
The  rainbow  wings  he  had  not  tried ; 
They  cradled  close  and  folded  tight 
His  velvet  body,  strong  and  light. 
On  sped  the  hours  till  sleep  was  done, 
Wide  swung  the  doors  to  life's  new  sun. 
He  woke ! — he  longed  his  wings  to  try, 
And  found  himself — a  butterfly  ! 
No  longer  measuring  slow  his  way. 
No  longer  shut  from  light  of  day. 
He  does  not  toil  with  creeping  things. 
But  floats  with  birds  on  happy  wings. 
Dear  symbol  of  immortal  years, 
Thy  lesson  banishes  our  fears ; 
For  we,  when  done  with  earthly  things 
Shall  find  like  thee,  our  angel  wings. 

— Lydia  Avery   Coonly   Ward. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  135 


THIRD    YEiR 


THE  CHILDREN'S  HOUR 

BETWEEN  the  dark  and  the  dayUght, 
When  the  night  is  beginning  to  lower, 
Comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupations, 
That  is  known  as  the  Children's  Hour. 

I  hear  in  the  chamber  above  me 

The  patter  of  little  feet, 
The  sound  of  a  door  that  is  opened, 

And  voices  soft  and  sweet. 

From  my  study  I  see  in  the  lamplight, 
Descending  the  broad  hall  stair. 

Grave  Alice,   and  laughing  Allegra, 
And  Edith  with  golden  hair. 

A  whisper  and  then  a  silence : 

Yet  I  know  by  their  merry  eyes 

They  are  plotting  and  planning  together 
To  take  me  by  surprise. 

A  sudden  rush  from  the  stairway, 

A  sudden  raid  from  the  hall ! 
By  three  doors  left  unguarded 

They  enter  my  castle  wall ! 

They  climb  up  into  my  turret 

O'er  the  arms  and  back  of  my  chair; 
If  I  try  to  escape  they  surround  me ; 

They   seem   to   be   everywhere. 


136  CHILD' 8   CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

THIRD    YEAR  AUGUST 

They  almost  devour  me  with  kisses, 

Their  arms  about  me  entwine, 
Till  I  think  of  the  Bishop  of  Bingen 

In  his  Mouse-Tower  on  the  Rhine! 

Do  you  think,  O  blue-eyed  banditti, 
Because  you  have  scaled  the  wall. 

Such  an  old  mustache  as  I  am 
Is  not  a  match  for  you  all ! 

I  have  you  fast  in  my  fortress. 

And  will  not  let  you  depart, 
But  put  you  down  into  the  dungeon 

In  the  round-tower  of  my  heart. 

And  there  will  I  keep  you  forever. 

Yes,  forever  and  a  day, 
Till  the  walls  shall  crumble  to  ruin, 

And  moulder  in  dust  away ! 

— Henry  Wadsivorth  Longfelloiv. 


rOURTn  YEAR 

Sow  a  thought,  you  reap  an  action; 
Sow  an  action,  you  reap  a  habit; 
Sow  a  habit,  you  reap  a  character; 
Sow  a  character,  you  reap  a   destiny. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  139 


SEPTEMBER 


A  DREAM  OF  AUTUMN 

nELLOW  hazes,  lowly  trailing 
Over  wood  and  meadow,  veiling 
Somber  skies,  with  wildfowl  sailing 

Sailor-like  to  foreign  lands; 
And  the  north-wind  overleaping 
Summer's  brink,  and  floodlike   sweeping 
Wrecks  of  roses  where  the  weeping 

Willows  wring  their  helpless  hands. 

Flared,  like  Titan  torches  flinging 
Flakes  of  flame  and  embers,  springing 
From  the  vale  the  trees  stand  swinging 

In  the  moaning  atmosphere; 
While  in  dead'ning-lands  the  lowing 
Of  the  cattle,  sadder  growing. 
Fills  the  sense  to  overflowing 

With  the  sorrow  of  the  year. 

Sorrowfully,  yet  the  sweeter 
Sings  the  brook  in  rippled  meter 
Under  boughs  that  lithely  teeter 

Lone  birds,  answering  from  the  shores 
Through  the  viny,  shady-shiny 
Interspaces,  shot  with  tiny 
Flying  motes  that  speck  the  winy 

Wave-engraven  sycamores. 

Fields  of  ragged  stubble,  wrangled 
With  rank  weeds,  and  shocks  of  tangled 
Corn,  with  crests  like  rent  plumes  dangled 
Over  Harvest's  battle-plain; 


140  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FOURTH    TEAR  8EP1EMBEH 

And  the  sudden  whir  and  whistle 
Of  the  quail  that,  like  a  missile, 
Whizzes  over  thorn  and  thistle, 
And,  a  missile,  drops  again. 

Muffled  voices,  hid  in  thickets 
Where  the  redbird  stops  to  stick  its 
Ruddy  beak  betwixt  the  pickets 

Of  the  truant's  rustic  trap ; 
And  the  sound  of  laughter  ringing 
Where,  within  the  wild-vine  swinging. 
Climb  Bacchante's  schoolmates,  flinging 

Purple  clusters  in  her  lap. 

Rich  as  wine,  the  sunset  flashes 
Round  the  tilted  world,  and  dashes 
Up  the  sloping  west  and  splashes 

Red  foam  over  sky  and  sea — 
Till  my  dream  of  Autumn,  paling 
In  the  splendor  all-prevailing, 
Ijke  a  sallow  leaf  goes  sailing 

Down  the  silence  solemnly. 

— James  Whit  comb  Riley. 


RARE  SEPTEMBER 

'"nniS  the  radiant  rare   September, 

1      With  the  clusters  ripe  on  the  vine. 
With  scents  that  mingle  in  spicy  tingle 
On  the  hill  slope's  glimmering  line. 

And  summer's  a  step  behind  us, 
And  autumn's  a  thought  before, 

And  each  fleet  sweet  day  that  we  meet  on  the  way 
Is  an  angel  at  the  door. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  141 


OCTOBER 


THE   VILLAGE   BLACKSMITH 

UNDER  a  spreading  chestnut-tree 
The  village  smithy  stands; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat, 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow ; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge, 
With  measured  beat  and  slow. 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  the  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing  floor. 


142  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FOURTH    TEAR  OCTOBER 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 

And  sits  among  his  boys ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 
Singing  in  the  village  choir. 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice, 

Singing  in   Paradise! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more. 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 
Onward  through  life  he  goes; 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin. 
Each  evening  sees  it  close ; 

Something  attempted,  something  done. 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 

Thus  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life 

Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought; 

Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and  thought. 

— Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


CHILD' 8  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  143 


PtTRTH    YEAE 


COLUMBUS* 

BEHIND  him  lay  the  gray  Azores, 
Behind  the  Gates  of  Hercules; 
Before  him,  not  the  ghost  of  shores, 
Before  him  only  shoreless  seas. 
The  good  mate  said :  "Now  must  we  pray, 

For  lo!  the  very  stars  are  gone. 
Brave  Admiral,  speak;  what  shall  I  say?" 
"Why  say,  'Sail  on !  sail  on !  sail  on !'  " 

"My  men  grow  mutinous  day  by  day ; 

My  men  grow  ghastly,  wan,  and  weak." 
The  stout  mate  thought  of  home ;  a  spray 

Of  salt  wave  washed  his  swarthy  cheek. 
'"What  shall  I  say,  brave  Admiral,  say, 

If  we  sight  naught  but  seas  at  dawn?" 
"Why  you  shall  say  at  break  of  day, 

Sail  on !  sail  on !  sail  on !  sail  on !" 

They  sailed  and  sailed,  as  winds  might  blow, 

Until  at  last  the  blanched  mate  said, 
"Why,  now  not  even  God  would  know 

Should  I  and  all  my  men  fall  dead. 
These  very  winds  forget  their  way. 

For  God  from  these  dread  seas  is  gone. 
Now  speak,  brave  Admiral,  speak  and  say" — 

He  said :  "Sail  on,  sail  on,  sail  on !" 


144  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

rOUETH    TEAB  OCTOBER 

They  sailed;  they  sailed.  Then  spake  the  mate; 

"This  mad  sea  shows  his  teeth  tonight; 
He  curls  his  lip,  he  lies  in  wait, 

With  lifted  teeth,  as  if  to  bite! 
Brave  Admiral,  say  but  one  good  word ; 

What  shall  we  do  when  hope  is  gone?" 
The  words  leapt  as  a  leaping  sword: 

"Sail  on !  sail  on !  sail  on !  sail  on !" 

Then,  pale  and  worn  he  kept  his  deck. 

And  peered  through  darkness.  Ah,  that  night 
Of  all  dark  nights !  And  then  a  speck — 

A  light !  A  light !  A  light !  A  light ! 
It  grew,  a  star-lit  flag  unfurled! 

It  grew  to  be  Time's  burst  of  dawn. 
He  gained  a  world !     He  gave  that  world 

Its  grandest  lesson:     "On  and  on!" 

— Joaquin  Miller. 

•In  point  of  power,  workmanship,  and  feeling,  among  all  the  poems 
written  by  Americans,  we  are  inclined  to  give  first  place  to  "The 
Pert  of  Ships,"  or  "Columbus,"  by  Joaquin  Miller.— London 
Athenaeum. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  145 


NOVEMBER 


PSALM  CL 

1.  Praise  ye  the  Lord.  Praise  God  in  his 
sanctuary:  praise  him  in  the  firmament  of  his 
power. 

2.  Praise  him  for  his  mighty  acts:  praise 
him  according  to  his  excellent  greatness. 

3.  Praise  him  with  the  sound  of  the  trum- 
pet: praise  him  with  the  psaltery  and  harp, 

4.  Praise  him  with  the  timbrel  and  dance: 
praise  him  with  stringed  instruments  and  organs. 

5.  Praise  him  with  the  loud  cymbals: 
praise  him  upon  the  high  sounding  cymbals. 

6.  Let  everything  that  hath  breath  praise 
the  Lord.     Praise  ye  the  Lord. 

— The  Bible. 


146  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


rOURTH    TEAR 


THE  LANDING  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 

THE  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 
And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky 
Their  giant  branches  tossed; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came; 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame ; 

Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence  and  in  fear ; 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert's  gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang. 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea ; 

And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 
To  the  anthem  of  the  free. 

The  ocean  eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam. 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared, — 

This  was  their  welcome  home. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  147 

FOURTH    TEAR  NOVEMBER 

There  were,  men  with  hoary  hair 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band ; 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 

Away   from  their  childhood's   land? 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth ; 
There  was  manhood's  brow  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar? 

Eright  jewels  of  the  mine? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war? — 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine. 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod! 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found ; 

Freedom  to  worship  God ! 

— Dorothea  Felicia  Hemans. 


148  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

DECEMBER 

THE  FIRST  SNOW-FALL 

THE  snow  had  begun  in  the  gloaming, 
And  busily  all  the  night 
Had  been  heaping  field  and  highway 
With  a  silence  deep  and  white. 

Every  pine  and  fir  and  hemlock 

Wore  ermine  too  dear  for  an  earl, 

And  the  poorest  twig  on  the  elm-tree 
Was  ridged  inch  deep  with  pearl. 

From  sheds  new-roofed  with  Carrara 
Came   Chanticleer's  mufflled  crow, 

The  stiff  rails  softened  to  swan's-down, 
And  still  fluttered  down  the  snow. 

I  stood  and  watched  by  the  window 
The  noiseless  work  of  the  sky, 

And  the  sudden  flurries  of  snow-birds. 
Like  brown  leaves  whirling  by. 

I  thought  of  a  mound  in  sweet  Auburn 
Where  a  little  headstone  stood ; 

How  the  flakes  were  folding  it  gently. 
As  did  robins  the  babes  in  the  wood. 

Up  spoke  our  own  little  ]\Iabel, 

Saying,  "Father,  who  makes  it  snow?" 

And  I  told  of  the  good  All-Father 
Who  cares  for  us  here  below. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  149 

FC.CRTH    TEAR  DECF.MBEB 

Again  I  looked  at  the  snow-fall, 
And  thought  of  the  leaden  sky 

That  arched  o"er  our  first  great  sorrow, 
When  that  mound  was  heaped  so  high. 

I  remembered  the  gradual  patience 

That  fell  from  that  cloud  like  snov/, 

Flake  by  flake,  healing  and  hiding 
The  scar  that  renewed  our  woe. 

And  again  to  the  child  I  whispered, 
"The  snow  that  husheth  all. 

Darling,  the  merciful  Father 
Alone  can  make  it  fall !" 

Then,  with  eyes  that  saw  not,  I  kissed  her; 
And  she,  kissing  back,  could  not  know 
That  my  kiss  was  given  to  her  sister. 

Folded  close  under  deepening  snow. 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 


150  CHILD'S  CALENDAB  BEAUTIFUL 


FOCETH    YEAR 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

YOU  come  from  a  land  where  the  snow  Hes 
deep 
In  forest  glade,  on  mountain  steep, 
Where  the  days  are  short  and  the  nights  are  long. 
And  never  a  skylark  sings  his  song. 
Have  you  seen  the  wild  deer  in  his  mountain 

home, 
And  watched  the  fall  of  the  brown  pine  cone  ? 
Do  you  miss  your  mates  in  the  land  of  snow. 
Where  none  but  the  evergreen  branches  grow? 
Dear  tree,  we  will  dress  you  in  robes  so  bright 
That  ne'er  could  be  seen  a  prettier  sight; 
In  glittering  balls  and  tinkling  bells. 
And  the  star  which  the  story  of  Christmas  tells ; 
On  every  branch  we  will  place  a  light 
That   shall   send   its   gleam   through  the   starry 

night ; 
And  the  little  children  will  gather  there, 
And  carol  their  songs  in  voices  fair ; 
And  we  hope  you  will  never  homesick  be, 
You  beautiful,  beautiful  Christmas  tree. 

— Mary  A.  McHugh. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  161 


JAXU^A^RY 


THE  WIZARD  FROST 

WONDROUS  things  have  come  to  pass 
On  my  square  of  window  glass. 
Looking  in  it  I  have  seen 
Grass  no  longer  painted  green, — 
Trees  whose  branches  never  stir, — 
Skies  without  a  cloud  or  blur, — 
Church   spires  pointing  to  the  sky, — 
And  a  funny  little  town 
Where  the  people,  up  and  down 
Streets  of  silver,  to  me  seem 
Like  the  people  in  a  dream 
Dressed  in  finest  kinds  of  lace ; 
'Tis  a  picture  on  a  space 
Scarcely  larger  than  my  hand. 
Of  a  tiny  Switzerland, 
Which  the  Wizard  Frost  has  drawn 
'Twixt  the  daylight  and  the  dawn. 
Quick,  and  see  what  he  has  done 
Ere  'tis  stolen  by  the  sun. 

— Frank  Dempster  Sherman. 


152  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


rOURTH   TEAK 


ABOU  BEN  ADHEM 

ABOU  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase!) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw,  within  the  moonHght  in  his  room, 
Making  it  rich  and  Hke  a  hly  in  bloom, 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold ; 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 
And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
"What  writest  thou  ?"  The  vision  raised  its  head, 
And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord. 
Answered,   "The  names  of  those  who  love  the 

Lord." 
"And  is  mine  one?"  said  Abou.     "Nay,  not  so," 
Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spoke  more  low. 
But  cheerly  still,  and  said,  "I  pray  thee,  then. 
Write  me  as  one  who  loves  his  fellow-men." 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished.  The  next  night 
It  came  again,  with  a  great  awakening  light. 
And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had 

blest ; 
And,  lo !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 

— Leierh  Hunt. 


CHILD'S  CALEXDAR  BEAUTIFUL  153 

FEBRUARY 

FLAG  OF  THE  FREE 

rLAG  of  the  free,  fairest  to  see ! 
Borne  through  the  strife  and  the  thunder  of 
war; 
Banner  so  bright  with  starry  light, 
Foat  ever  proudly  from  mountain  to  shore. 
Emblem  of  Freedom,  hope  to  the  slave. 
Spread  thy  fair  folds  but  to  shield  and  to  save, 
While  through  the  sky,  loud  rings  the  cry, 
Union  and  Liberty !     One  evermore. 

Flag  of  the  brave,  long  may  it  wave. 

Chosen  of  God  while  His  might  we  adore, 

In  Freedom's  van  for  good  to  man. 

Symbol  of  Right  through  the  years  passing  o'er. 

Pride  of  our  country,  honored  afar. 

Scatter  each  cloud  that  would  darken  a  star, 

While  through  the  sky,  loud  rings  the  cry, 

Union  and  Liberty !  One  evermore. 


JUST  A  LITTLE 

lUST  a  little  every  day, 

OJ     That's  the  way 

Seeds  in  darkness  swell  and  grow, 

Tiny  blades  push  through  the  snow ; 
Never  any  flower  of  May 

Leaps  to  blossom  at  a  burst, 

Slowly,  slowly  at  the  first, 
That's  the  way. 
Just  a  little  every  day. 


154  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


M^VROH 


MARCH 

/V\  ARCH !  March !  March !    They  are  coming 
/     V    In  troops  to  the  tune  of  the  wind ; 
Ked-headed  woodpeckers  drumming, 

Gold-crested   thrushes   behind ; 
Sparrows  in  brown  jackets  hopping 

Past  every  gateway  and  door ; 
Finches  with  crimson  caps  stopping 

Just  where  they  stopped  years  before. 

March!  March!  March!  They  are  sHpping 

Into  their  places  at  last ; 
Little  white  lily-buds,  dripping 

Under  the  showers  that  fall  fast ; 
Buttercups,  violets,  roses ; 

Snowdrop  and  bluebell  and  pink ; 
Throng  upon  throng  of  sweet  posies. 

Bending,  the  dewdrops  to  drink. 

March  !  March  !  March  !  They  will  hurry 

Forth  at  the  wild  bugle-sound ; 
Blossoms  and  birds  in  a  flurry. 

Fluttering  all  over  the  ground. 
Hang  out  your  flags,  birch  and  willow  I 

Shake  out  your  red  tassels,  larch  ! 
Up,  blades  of  grass,  from  your  pillow ! 

Hear  who  is  calling  you — March. 

— Lucy  Larcoin. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  155 

FOtRTH    TEAR  MARCH 

THE  REDBREAST  AND  BUTTERFLY 

A  RT  thou  the  bird  whom  man  loves  best, 
^    '  The  pious  bird  with  the  scarlet  breast, 

Our  little  English  robin ; 
The  bird  that  comes  about  our  doors 
When  autumn  winds  are  sobbing? 
Art  thou  the  Peter  of  Norway  boors? 

Their  Thomas  in  Finland, 

And  Russia  far  inland? 
The  bird,  who  by  some  name  or  other 
All  men  who  know  thee  call  their  brother. 
The  darling  of  children  and  men? 
Could  father  Adam  open  his  eyes,* 
And  see  this  sight  beneath  the  skies, 
He'd  wish  to  close  them  again. 

If  the  butterfly  knew  but  his  friend, 
Hither  his  flight  he  would  bend ; 
And  find  his  way  to  me 
Under  the  branches  of  the  tree ; 
In  and  out,  he  darts  about ; 
Can  this  be  the  bird,  to  man  so  good. 
That,  after  their  bewildering. 
Did  cover  with  leaves  the  little  children, 
So  painfully  in  the  wood? 


156  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FOURTH    TEAR  MARCH 

What  ailed  thee,  Robin,  that  thou  couldst  pursue 

A  beautiful  creature, 
That  is  gentle  by  nature? 
Beneath  the  summer  sky 
From  flower  to  flower  let  him  fly; 
'Tis  all  that  he  wishes  to  do. 
The  cheerer  thou  of  our  indoor  sadness. 
He  is  the  friend  of  our  summer  gladness ; 
What  hinders,  then,  that  ye  should  be 
Playmates  in  the  sunny  weather, 
And  fly  about  in  the  air  together ! 
His  beautiful  wings  in  crimson  are  drest, 
A  crimson  as  bright  as  thine  own ; 
If  thou  wouldst  be  happy  in  thy  nest, 
O  pious  bird !  whom  man  loves  best, 
Love  him,  or  leave  him  alone ! 

— William   Wordsworth. 


*See  "Paradise  Lost,"  book  xi,  where  Adam  points  out  to  Eve  the 
ominous  sign  of  the  eagle  chasing  "two  birds  of  gayest  plume,"  and 
the  gentle  hart  and  hind  pursued  by  their  enemy. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  157 


APRIXi 


THE  DAFFODILS 

I   wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud 
That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 
When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 
A  host  of  golden  daffodils ; 
Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees. 
Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 

And  twinkle  on  the  Milky  Way, 

They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 
Along  the  margin  of  a  bay; 

Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 

Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced ;  but  they 
Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee; 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay, 
In  such  a  jocund  company; 

I  gazed, — and  gazed, — but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought; 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 

In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  the  inward  eye. 

Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  thrills 

And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

— William  Wordsworth. 


158  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FOURTH    TEAR 

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT 

I  ACK-in-the-pulpit 
C2J   Preaches  today 
Under  the  green  trees 

Just  over  the  way. 
Squirrel  and  song-sparrow, 

High   on  their  perch, 
Hear  the  sweet  lily-bells 

Ringing  to  church. 

Come,  hear  what  his  reverence 

Rises  to  say, 
In  his  low  painted  pulpit, 

This  calm  sabbath  day. 
Fair  is  the  canopy 

Over  him  seen. 
Penciled,  by  Nature's  hand, 

Llack,  brown  and  green ; 

Green  is  his  surplice. 

Green  are  his  bands ; 

In  his  queer  little  pulpit 

The  little  priest  stands. 

In  black  and  gold  velvet. 

So  gorgeous  to  see. 
Comes  with  his  bass  voice, 

The  chorister  bee. 
Green  fingers  playing 

Unseen  on  wind-lyres. 
Low  singing-bird  voices, — 

These  are  his  choirs. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  159 


FOCRTH     TEAH 


The  violets  are  deacons; 

I  know  by  the  sign 
That  the  cups  which  they  carry 

Are  purple  with  wine. 
And  the  columbines  bravely, 

As  sentinels  stand 
On  the  lookout,  with  all  their 

Red  trumpets  in  hand. 

Meek-faced  anemones. 

Drooping  and  sad; 
Great  yellow  violets. 

Smiling  out  glad ; 
Buttercups'  faces, 

Beaming  and  bright ; 
Clovers  with  bonnets — 

Some  red  and  some  white; 
Daisies,  their  white  fingers 

Half  clasped  in  prayer; 
Dandelions,  proud  of 

The  gold  of  their  hair. 

Innocents,  children 

Guileless  and  frail, 
Meek  little  faces. 

Upturned  and  pale ; 
Wild-wood  geraniums, 

All  in  their  best. 
Languidly  leaning 

In  purple  gauze  dressed, — 
All  are  assembled 

This  sweet  Sabbath  day 
To  hear  what  the  priest 

In  his  pulpit  will  say. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  160 


MAY 

LITTLE  DANDELION 

GAY  little  Dandelion 
Lights  up  the  meads, 
Swings  on  her  slender  foot, 

Telleth  her  beads; 
Lists  to  the  robin's  note 
Poured  from  above ; 
Wise  little  Dandelion 
Asks  not  for  love. 

Cold  lie  the  daisy  banks 

Clothed  but  in  green, 
Where  in  the  days  agone 

Bright  hues  were  seen, 
Wild  pinks  are  slumbering ; 

Violets  decay ; 
True  little  dandelion 

Greeteth  the  May. 

Brave  little  Dandelion; 

Fast  falls  the  snow,    • 
Bending  the  daffodil's 

Haughty  head  low. 
Under  that  fleecy  tent. 

Careless  of  cold, 
Blithe  little  Dandelion 

Counteth  her  gold. 

Meek  little  Dandelion 
Groweth  more   fair, 

Till  dies  the  amber  dew 
Out  from  her  hair. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  161 

FOUHTH    YEAR     .  MAT 

High  rides  the  thirsty  sun, 

Fiercely  and  high; 
Faint  little  Dandelion 

Closeth  her  eye 

Pale  little  Dandelion 

In  her  white  shroud, 
Heareth  the  angel  breeze 

Call  from  the  cloud. 
Tiny  plumes  fluttering 

Make  no  delay ; 
Little  winged  Dandelion 

Soareth  away. 

— Helen  BosHvick. 


MAY 


/MERRY,  rollicking,  frolicking  May 
/     1      Into  the  woods  came  skipping  one  day ; 
She  teased  the  brook  till  he  laughed  outright. 
And  gurgled  and  scolded  with  all  his  might ; 
She  chirped  to  the  birds  and  bade  them  sing 
A  chorus  of  welcome  to  Lady  Spring; 
And  the  bees  and  butterflies  she  set 
To  waking  the  flowers  that  were  sleeping  yet. 
She  shook  the  trees  till  the  buds  looked  out 
To  see  what  the  trouble  was  all  about, 
And  nothing  in  Nature  escaped  that  day 
The  touch  of  the  life-giving  bright  young  May. 

— Mac  Donald. 


162  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


JUNE 

LITTLE  BOY  BLUE* 

THE  little  toy  dog  is  covered  with  dust, 
But  sturdy  and  stanch  he  stands ; 
And  the  Httle  toy  soldier  is  red  with  rust, 
And  his  musket  moulds  in  his  hands, 
Time  was  when  the  little  toy  dog  was  new. 

And  the  soldier  was  passing  fair; 
And  that  was  the  time  when  our  Little  Boy  Blue 
Kissed  them  and  put  them  there. 

**'Now,  don't  you  go  till  I  come,"  he  said ; 

"And  don't  you  make  any  noise !" 
So  toddling  off  to  his  trundle-bed 

He  dreamed  of  the  pretty  toys ; 
And  as  he  was  dreaming,  an  angel's  song 

Awakened   our   Little    Boy   Blue — 
Oh,  the  years  are  many,  the  years  are  long. 

But  the  little  toy  friends  are  true. 

Ay,  faithful  to  Little  Boy  Blue  they  stand, 

Each  in  the  same  old  place, 
Awaiting  the  touch  of  a  little  hand, 

The  smile  of  a  little  face. 
And  they  wonder,  as  waiting  these  long  years 
through. 

In  the  dust  of  that  little  chair. 
What  has  become  of  our  Little  Boy  Blue 

Since  he  kissed  them  and  put  them  there. 

— Bno^ene  Field. 


•From   The  Eugene   Field  Reader.     Permission   from   Charles   Scrib- 
ner's  Sons. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  163 


FOURTU    YEAR 


THE  BAREFOOT  BOY 

BLESSINGS  on  thee,  little  man, 
Barefoot  boy,  with  cheek  of  tan! 
With  thy  turned-up  pantaloons 
And  thy  merry  whistled  tunes; 
With  thy  red  lip,  redder  still 
Kissed  by  strawberries  on  the  hill ; 
With  the  sunshine  on  thy  face. 
Through  thy  torn  brim's  jaunty  grace; 
From  my  heart  I  give  thee  joy, — 
I  was  once  a  barefoot  boy  ! 
Prince  thou  art, — the  grown-up  man 
Only  is  republican. 
Let  the  million-dollared  ride! 
Barefoot,  trudging  at  his  side. 
Thou  hast  more  than  he  can  buy 
In  the  reach  of  ear  and  eye, — 
Outward  sunshine,  inward  jov: 
Blessings  on  thee,  barefoot  boy! 

Oh  for  boyhood's  painless  play, 
Sleep  that  wakes  in  laughing  day, 
Health  that  mocks  the  doctor's  rules. 
Knowledge  never  learned  of  schools, 
Of  the  wild  bee's  morning  chase. 
Of  the  wild-flower's  time  and  place, 
Flight  of  fowl  and  habitude 
Of  the  tenants  of  the  wood ; 
How  the  tortoise  bears  his  shell. 
How  the  woodchuck  digs  his  cell, 
And  the  ground  mole  sinks  his  well ; 
How  the  robin  feeds  her  young. 


164  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFVL 

FOURTH     YEAR 

How  the  oriole's  nest  is  hung; 
Where  the  whitest  lilies  blow, 
Where  the  freshest  berries  grow, 
Where  the  ground-nut  trails  its  vine, 
Where  the  wood-grape's  clusters  shine; 
Of  the  black  wasp's  cunning  way. 
Mason  of  his  walls  of  clay, 
And  the  architectural  plans 
Of  gray  hornet  artisans ! 
For  eschewing  books  and  tasks, 
Nature  answers  all  he  asks ; 
Hand  in  hand  with  her  he  walks. 
Face  to  face  with  her  he  talks. 
Part  and  parcel  of  her  joy,— 
Blessings  on  the  barefoot  boy! 

Oh  for  boyhood's  time  of  June, 
Crowding  years  in  one  brief  moon. 
When  all  things  I  heard  or  saw, 
Me,  their  master,  waited  for. 
I  was  rich  in  flowers  and  trees. 
Humming-birds  and  honey-bees; 
For  my  sport  the  squirrel  played, 
Plied  the  snouted  mole  his  spade; 
For  my  taste  the  blackberry  cone 
Purpled  over  hedge  and  stone; 
Laughed  the  brook  for  my  delight 
Through  the  day  and  through  the  night, 
Whispering  at  the  garden  wall, 
Talked  with  me  from  fall  to  fall ; 
Mine  the  sand-rimmcd  pickerel  pond, 
Mine  the  walnut  slopes  beyond. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  165 

FOURTH     TEAR  JUNE 

Mine,  on  bending  orchard  trees 
Apples  of  Hesperidesl 
Still  as  my  horizon  grew, 
Larger  grew  my  riches  too; 
All  the  world  I  saw  or  knew 
Seemed  a  complex  Chinese  toy, 
Fashioned  for  a  barefoot  boy. 

Oh  for  festal  dainties  spread, 
Like  my  bowl  of  milk  and  bread ; 
Pewter  spoon  and  bowl  of  wood; 
On  the  door-stone  gray  and  rude ! 
O'er  me  like  a  regal  tent, 
Cloudy-ribbed,  the  sunset  bent, 
Purple-curtained,  fringed  with  gold. 
Looped  in  many  a  wind-swung  fold ; 
While  for  music  came  the  play 
Of  the  pied  frog's  orchestra ; 
And,  to  light  the  noisy  choir. 
Lit  the  fly  his  lamp  of  fire. 
I  was  monarch ;  pomp  and  joy 
Waited  on  the  barefoot  boy! 

Cheerily,  then,  my  little  man. 
Live  and  laugh,  as  boyhood  can  ! 
Though  the  flinty  slopes  be  hard. 
Stubble-speared  the  new-mown  sward. 
Every  morn  shall  lead  thee  through 
Fresh  baptisms  of  the  dew ; 
Every  evening  from  thy  feet 
Shall  the  cool  wind  kiss  the  heat : 
All  too  soon  these  feet  must  hide 
In  the  prison  cells  of  pride, 


166  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FOURTH    TEAR 


Lose  the  freedom  of  the  sod, 
Like  a  colt's  for  work  be  shod, 
Made  to  tread  the  mills  of  toil, 
Up  and  down  in  ceaseless  moil : 
Happy  if  their  track  be  found 
Never  on  forbidden  ground ; 
Happy  if  they  sink  not  in 
Quick  and  treacherous  sands  of  sin. 
Ah,  that  thou  could'st  know  thy  joy. 
Ere  it  passes,  barefoot  boy ! 

— John  G.  Whitticr. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUIIFDL  167 


JULY 

SUMMER'S   SUNNY  DAYS 

SUMMER'S  sunny  days  have  come ; 
Soft  and  sweet  the  wind  is  blowing; 
Bees  across  the  meadow  hum, 

Where  the  golden  flowers  are  growing; 
Fields  and  trees  are  green  and  fair, 
And  sunshine's  sleeping  everywhere, 

Ch,  the  sunny  summer  days, 

When  the  ripples  dance  and  quiver ; 

And  the  sun  at  noontide  lays 
Starlike  jewels  on  the  river! 

Take  your  shoes  off;  wade  in  here. 

Where  the  water  's  warm  and  clear. 

Listen  to  the  song  it  sings, 

Ever  rippling,  ever  flowing; 
Telling  of  a  thousand  things, 

Whence  it  comes  and  whither  going; 
Smging  like  the  birds  and  bees, 
Of  the  wondrous  world  it  sees. 

All  the  world  is  filled  with  sound, 

And  the  very  air  is  ringing. 
Up  and  down  and  all  around. 

With  the  songs  the  birds  are  singing. 
Oh,  the  golden  summer  hours. 
When  earth's  a  paradise  of  flowers. 

—From  The  Child's  World. 


168  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FOUKTH    rEAB 


LITTLE  BROWN  HANDS 

THEY  drive  home  the  cows  from  the  pasture, 
Up  through  the  long  shady  lane, 
Where  the  quail  whistles  loud  in  the  wheatfields 

That  are  yellow  with  ripening  grain. 
They  find  in  the  thick  waving  grasses. 

Where  the  scarlet-lipped  strawberry  grows; 
They  gather  the  earliest  snowdrops, 

And  the  first  crimson  buds  of  the  rose. 

They  toss  the  new  hay  in  the  meadow; 

They  gather  the  elder-bloom  white; 
They  find  where  the  dusky  grapes  purple 

In  the  soft-tinted  October  light. 
They  know  where  the  apples  hang  ripest. 

And  are  sweeter  than  Italy's  wines ; 
They  know  where  the  fruit  hangs  the  thickest 

On  the  long,  thorny  blackberry  vines. 

They  gather  the  delicate  seaweeds. 

And  build  tiny  castles  of  sand ; 
They  pick  up  the  beautiful  seashells. 

Fairy  barks  that  have  drifted  to  land. 
They  wave  from  the  tall,  rocking  treetops, 

Where  the  oriole's  hammock  nest  swings ; 
And  at  night  time  are  folded  in  slumber 

By  a  song  that  a  fond  mother  sings. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  169 

FOURTH    YEAR  J^^'f 

Those  who  toil  bravely  are  strongest; 

The  humble  and  poor  become  great; 
And  so,  from  these  brown-handed  children 

Shall  grow  mighty  rulers  of  state. 
The  pen  of  the  author  and  statesman, 

The  noble  and  wise  of  the  land. 
The  sword,  and  the  chisel,  and  palette, 

Shall  be  held  in  the  little  brown  hand. 

— Mary  H.  Kroiit. 


170  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


AUGUST 

GIVE 

SEE  the  rivers  flowing 
Downwards  to  the  sea, 
Pouring  all  their  treasures 

Bountiful  and  free ; 
Yet  to  help  their  giving 

Hidden  springs  arise ; 
Or,  if  need  be,  showers 

Feed  them  from  the  skies ! 

Watch  the  princely  flowers 

Their  rich  fragrance  spread, 
Load  the  air  with  perfumes, 

From  their  beauty  shed: 
Yet  their  lavish  spending 

Leaves  them  not  in  dearth, 
With  fresh  life  replenished 

By  their  mother  earth ! 

Give  thy  heart's  best  treasures, — 

From  fair  Nature  learn ! 
Give  thy  love,  and  ask  not, 

Wait  not  a  return ! 
And  the  more  thou  spendest 

From  thy  little  store. 
With  a  double  bounty 

God  will  give  thee  more. 

— Adelaide  Anne  Proctor. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  171 


FOUBTH    YEAR 


THE    SOLITUDE    OF    ALEXANDER 
SELKIRK 

I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey; 
My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute ; 
From  the  centre  all  round  to  the  sea 
I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 

0  Solitude !  where  are  the  charms 
That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face? 
Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms, 
Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 

1  am  out  of  humanity's  reach, 

I  must  finish  my  journey  alone, 
Never  hear  the  sweet  music  of  speech; 
I  start  at  the  sound  of  my  own. 
The  beasts  that  roam  over  the  plain 
My  form  with  indifference  see; 
They  are  so  unacquainted  with  man, 
Their  tameness  is  shocking  to  me. 

Society,  Friendship,  and  Love 
Divinely  bestow'd  upon  man, 
Oh,  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove 
How  soon  would  I  taste  you  again! 
My  sorrows  I  then  might  assuage 
In  the  ways  of  religion  and  truth, 
Might  learn  from  the  wisdom  of  age, 
And  be  cheer'd  by  the  sallies  of  youth. 


172  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FOURTH    YEAR  AUU1.01 

Ye  winds  that  have  made  me  your  sport, 

Convey  to  this  desolate  shore 

Some  cordial  endearing  report 

Of  a  land  I  shall  visit  no  more ; 

My  friends,  do  they  now  and  then  send 

A  wish  or  a  thought  after  me? 

O  tell  me  I  yet  have  a  friend. 

Though  a  friend  I  am  never  to  see. 

How  fleet  is  a  glance  of  the  mind ! 
Compared  with  the'  speed  of  its  flight, 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind. 
And  the  swift-winged  arrows  of  light. 
When  I  think  of  my  own  native  land 
In  a  moment  I  seem  to  be  there ; 
But  alas !  recollection  at  hand 
Soon  hurries  me  back  to  despair. 

But  the  sea-fowl  is  gone  to  her  nest. 
The  beast  is  laid  down  in  his  lair; 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest, 
And  I  to  my  cabin  repair. 
There's  mercy  in  every  place, 
And  mercy,  encouraging  thought! 
Gives  even  affliction  a  grace 
And  reconciles  man  to  his  lot. 

— William  Cowper. 


nnn  year 


THE  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight, 
But  they,  while  their  companions  slept. 
Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night. 

— Longfellow. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAK  BEAUTIFUL  175 


SEPTEMBER 

THE  CORN-SONG 

MEAP  high  the  farmer's  wintry  hoard! 
1  I    Heap  high  the  golden  corn! 
No  richer  gift  has  Autumn  poured 
From  out  her  lavish  horn ! 

Let  other  lands,  exulting,  glean 

The  apple  from  the  pine, 
The  orange  from  its  glossy  green, 

The  cluster  from  the  vine; 

We  better  love  the  hardy  gift 

Our  rugged  vales  bestow. 
To  cheer  us  when  the  storm  shall  drift 

Our   harvest-fields   with   snow. 

Through  vales  of  grass  and  meads  of  flowers, 
Our  ploughs  their  furrows  made, 

While  on  the  hills  the  sun  and  showers 
Of  changeful  April  played. 

V/e  dropped  the  seed  o'er  hill  and  plain, 

Beneath  the  sun  of  May, 
And  frightened  from  our  sprouting  grain 

The  robber  crows  away. 

All  through  the  long,  bright  days  of  June 

Its  leaves  grew  green  and  fair. 
And  waved  in  hot  midsummer's  noon 

Its  soft  and  vellow  hair. 


176  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFbL 


FIFTH    YEAR 


And  now,  with  autumn's  moonlit  eves, 

Its  harvest-time  has  come, 
We  pluck  away  the  frosted  leaves, 

And  bear  the  treasure  home. 

There,  when  the  snows  about  us  drift, 

And  winter  winds  are  cold, 
Fair  hands  the  broken  grain  shall  sift, 

And  knead  its  meal  of  gold. 

Let  vapid  idlers  loll  in  silk 

Around  their  costly  board; 
Give  us  the  bowl  of  samp  and  milk, 

By  homespun  beauty  poured! 

Where'er  the  wide  old  kitchen  hearth 

Sends  up  its  smoky  curls. 
Who  will  not  thank  the  kindly  earth, 

And  bless  our  farmer  girls! 

Then  shame  on  all  the  proud  and  vain, 

Whose  folly  laughs  to  scorn 
The  blessing  of  our  hardy  grain, 

Our  wealth  of  golden  corn! 

Let  earth  withhold  her  goodly  root. 

Let  mildew  blight  the  rye. 
Give  to  the  worm  the  orchard's  fruit. 

The  wheat-field  to  the  fly; 

But  let  the  good  old  crop  adorn 

The  hills  our  fathers  trod; 
Still  let  us,  for  his  golden  corn, 

Send  up  our  thanks  to  God ! 

— John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 


CHILD'H  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  111 


FIFTH    TEAR 


THE  BETTER  WAY 

IF  anything  unkind  you  hear 
About  some  one  you  know,  my  dear, 
Do  not,  I  pray  you,  it  repeat 
When  you  that  some  one  chance  to  meet, 
For  such  news  has  a  leaden  way 
Of  clouding  o'er  a   sunny   day. 

But  if  you  something  pleasant  hear 

About  some  one  you  know,  my  dear, 

Make   haste — to  make  great  haste   'twere  well. 

To  her  or  him  the  same  to  tell ; 

For  such  news  has  a  golden  way 

Of  lighting  u\,  a  cloudy  day. 


178  CHILiJ  a  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


OCTOBER 

OCTOBER  SONG 

THE  locust  trees  are  hung  with  pods 
Of  glossy  russet-brown, 
And  tawny  leaves  of  sycamores 
Are  swiftly  drifting  down. 

Their  purple  clusters,  over-ripe, 

The  trailing  wild-grapes  show ; 

And  frost-tipped  woodbine  clambers  up 
From  scarlet  depths  below. 

Still  clinging  to  the  clover  stalks 
Are  blossoms,  white  and  sweet ; 

And  pricked  in  tufted  rows,  the  fields 
Are  green  with  winter  wheat. 

On  furrowed  mold,  where  grew  the  corn, 
Pale,  golden  stubble  stands ; 

And  lingering  blackbirds  pipe  and  trill 
Through  swampy  meadow-lands 

Far,  far  above,  within  the  blue. 

Half  hid  in  lofty  flight, 
A  hawk  sails  slow,  and  sunward  turns 

A  breast  of  shining  white. 

The  air  is  full  of  milkweed  films. 

And  floating  thistle  floss ; 
And  busily  the  spiders  spin 

Their  silver  nets  across 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  li9 


FIFTH     YEAR 


The  red-oak's  tangled  undergrowth 
Of  lacing  boughs,  and  string 

The  yellow  lindens,  that  the  winds 
Are  rudely  pillaging. 

And  where  the  ruddy  maples  blaze 

Athwart  the  gusty  air, 
It  lifts  their  leaves  like  little  flames, 

And  puffs  them  everywhere. 

But  what  if,  loosed  with  fitful  touch, 
The  woodland  doffs  its  gown; 

What  if  the  fallow  hillside  grass 

Grows  slowly  crisp  and  brown! 

What  matter  that  the  truant  sun 
Slips  southward,  day  by  day. 

And  that,  hard  by,  the  winter  waits 
To  hood  the  skies  in  gray! 

I'll  find  but  deeper  joy  in  this, 

The  autumn's  pageantry ; 
The  sumac  boughs  are  brighter  far 

Than  dark  forebodings  be. 

— Bvaleen  Stein. 


180  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FliTTH     TELAE 


AUTUMN  LEAVES 

IN  the  hush  and  the  lonely  silence 
Of  the  chill  October  night 
Some  wizard  has  worked  his  magic 

With   fairy  fingers   light. 
The  leaves  of  the  sturdy  oak  trees 

Are  splendid  with  crimson  and  red, 
And  the  golden  flags  of  the  maple 
Are   fluttering  overhead. 

Through  the  tangle  of  faded  grasses 

There  are  trailing  vines  ablaze, 
And  the  glory  of  warmth  and  color 

Gleams  through  the  autumn  haze 
Like  banners  of  marching  armies 

That  farther  and  farther  go ; 
Down  the  winding  roads  and  valleys 

The  boughs  of  the  sumacs  glow. 

So  open  your  eyes  little  children, 
And  open  your  hearts  as  well, 

Till  the  charm  of  the  bright  October 
Shall  fold  you  in  its  spell. 

— Angelina  Wray. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  181 

NOVEMBER 

DOWN  TO  SLEEP 

NOVEMBER  woods  are  bare  and  still; 
November  days  are  clear  and  bright ; 
Each  noon  burns  up  the  morning's  chill ; 
The  morning's  snow  is  gone  b}^  night. 
Each  day  my  steps  grow  slow,  grow  light, 
As  through  the  woods  I  reverent  creep. 
Watching  all  things  "He  down  to  sleep." 

I  never  knew  before  what  beds, 

Fragrant  to  smell,  and  soft  to  touch. 

The  forest  sifts  and  shapes  and  spreads ; 
I  never  knew  before  how  much 
Of  human  sound  there  is  in  such 

Low  tones  as  through  the  forest  sweep 

When  all  wild  things  "lie  down  to  sleep." 

Each  day  I  find  new  coverlids 

Tucked  in,  and  more  sweet  eyes  shut  tight; 
Sometimes  the  viewless  mother  bids 

Her  ferns  kneel  down  full  in  my  sight; 

I  hear  their  chorus  of  "good  night," 
And  half  I  smile,  and  half  I  weep. 
Listening  while  they  lie  "down  to  sleep." 

November  woods  are  bare  and  still, 

November  days  are  bright  and  good; 

Life's  noon  burns  up  life's  morning  chill. 

Life's  night  rests  feet  that  long  have  stood; 
Some  warm  soft  bed,  in  field  or  wood. 

The  mother  will  not  fail  to  keep. 

Where  we  can  "lay  us  down  to  sleep." 

— Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 


182  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FIFTH    TEAR 


PSALM  XV 

1.  Lord,  who  shall  abide  in  thy  tabernacle? 
Who  shall  dwell  in  thy  holy  hill? 

2.  He  that  walketh  uprightly,  and  worketh 
righteousness,  and  speaketh  the  truth  in  his 
heart. 

3.  He  that  backbiteth  not  with  his  tongue, 
nor  doeth  evil  to  his  neighbor,  nor  taketh  up 
reproach  against  his  neighbor. 

4.  In  whose  eyes  a  vile  person  is  con- 
temned; but  he  honoreth  them  that  fear  the 
Lord.  He  that  sweareth  to  his  own  hurt  and 
change th  not. 

5.  He  that  putteth  not  out  his  money  to 
usury,  nor  taketh  reward  against  the  innocent. 
He  that  doeth  these  things  shall  never  be  moved. 

— The  Bible. 


CHILD' a,  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  183 

DECEMBER 

FROST  WORK 

THESE  winter  nights  against  my  window 
pane, 
Nature  with  busy  pencil  draws  designs 
Of  ferns,  and  blossoms,  and  fine  sprays  of  pines. 
Oak-leaf  and  acorn,  and  fantastic  vines, 
Which  she  will  make  when  summer  comes  again. 
Quaint  arabesques  in  argent,  flat  and  cold. 
Like  curious   Chinese  etchings. — By   and   by, 
W^alking  my  leafy  garden  as  of  old, 
These  frosty  fantasies  shall  charm  my  eye 
In  azure,  damask,  emerald,  and  gold. 

— Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME 

ISA  ID  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam 
/     V     Be  it  ever  so  humble  there's  no  place  like 

home ! 
A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 
Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  ne'er  met  with 
elsewhere. 
Home  !  home !  sweet,  sweet  home  ! 
There's  no  place  like  home ! 

An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain  ; 
Oh,  give  me  my  lowly  thatched  cottage  again ! 
The  birds  singing  gayly  that  came  at  my  call ; — 
Give   me  them — and  the  peace  of  mind   dearer 
than   all! 
Home  !  home !  sweet,  sweet  home  ! 
There's  no  place  like  home ! 

— John  Hozvard  Payne. 


184  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

JANU^VRY 

JANUARY 

TO  and  fro, 
To  and  fro, 

Athwart  the  tingling  icy  air, 

The  linden  branches  blow,  and  so, 
With  warp  of  wind  and  woof  of  snow, 
The  weaver  Winter's  shuttles  go; 

Such   garment   rare 

The  earth  shall  wear, 

No  softest  ermine,  neither  vair, 

Nor  royal  robing  anywhere. 

Nor  any  cunning  looms  may  show 

A  fabric  half  so  fair. 

Upon  the  peach  and  apple  trees 
A  thousand  frosty  fringes  freeze; 

The  moon-vines  lace  the  lattice  bars 
In  filmy  filigrees. 

The  grass  is  flecked  with  flaky  stars; 
The  clover-tufts  are  hid  from  sight; 
And,  now  and  then,  a  bird  alight 

With  burst  of  gleeful  flutter,  jars 
The  pearly-laden   red  rose-hips, 
And  tilting  airily,  so  tips 

A  tiny  tempest,  pelting  down 

The  slender  briars  bare  and  brown ; 
Or  else  some  sudden  flurry  stirs 
The  fleecy  drifts  that  freight  the  firs. 
And  swept  from  silvery  tassels  slips 

A  swirling  cloud  of  trailing,  bright, 

Light  scarfs  of  powdered  white. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  185 


FIFTH     YEAR 


Aye,  richly,  Winter,  to  and  fro 
Thus  let  your  silver  shuttles  go. 

Till  every  sparkling  web  is  spun ; 
Still,  with  rare  skill,  unceasing  ply 
Your  artful  trickeries,  and  try 

All  chill  enchantments,  every  one 
Of  all  devices  to  beguile 
This  dreary  overweary  while 

Wherein  we  wait  the  sun ; 
And  since  the  north  must  yet  prevail, 
And  bitter  cheerless  winds  assail, 

Come,  white-wing'd  snows,  and  over  all 

Like  shreds  of  floating  feathers  fall. 
And  lightly  lie! 
So,  by  and  by, 

— Ah,  by  and  by ! — 
Like  blue  flakes  from  an  azure  sky. 

The  April  birds  will  fly. 

— Bvaleen  Stein. 


186  CHILD' a  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


FIFTH    TEAR 


ASLEEP 

DEAR   tired    Mother    Earth   has   gone   to 
sleep ; 
Walk  tiptoe  through  her  chamber  lest  she 
waken ! 
Her  children  faithful  watch  above  her  keep, 

While  she  with  slumber  sweet  is  overtaken. 
Not  long  ago  a  thousand  tender  ferns 

Spread  over  her  their  wealth  of  dew-spun 
laces, 
And  nestled  close  to  her  warm  heart,  where  burns 
The   fire   that   kindles    Springtime's   sylvan 
graces. 
And  when  the  blessed  Mother  longed  for  rest, 

How  soothingly  the  little  tender  grasses 
Threw  all  their  soft  green  arms  across  her  breast ; 
No  wintry  blast  shall  touch  her  as  it  passes ! 
The  maples  watched  her  with  a  beaming  smile 
When    proud    October   covered   them    with 
glory, 
And  gladly  doffed  their  golden  robes,  the  while 
With    them    they    made   her    bed — the   old 
sweet  story ! 
And  yesterday  all  day  the  longing  sky 

Bent  lovingly  and  wistfully  above  her, 
While  soft  white  kisses — O,  so  tenderly — 

Came   down   and   covered   her — who   could 
but  love  her ! 

— Edward  A.  Jenks. 


CHILD'S  CALEyOAR  BEAUTIFUL  187 


FEBKUARY 


THE  SHEPHERD  OF  KING  ADMETUS 

THERE  came  a  youth  upon  the  earth, 
Some  thousand  years  ago, 
Whose   slender   hands   were   nothing  worth, 
Whether  to  plough,  or  reap,  or  sow. 

Upon  an  empty  tortoise  shell 

He  stretched  some  chords,  and  drew 
Music  that  made  men's  bosoms  swell 

Fearless,  or  brimmed  their  eyes  with  dew. 

Then  King  Admetus,  one  who  had 

Pure  taste  by  right  divine, 
Decreed  his  singing  not  too  bad 

To  hear  between  the  cups  of  wine: 

And  so,  well  pleased  with  being  soothed 

Into  a  sweet  half-sleep, 
Three  times  his  kingly  beard  he  smoothed, 

And  made  him  viceroy  o'er  his  sheep. 

His  words  wsre  simple  words  enough. 

And  yet  he  used  them  so, 
That  what  in  other  mouths  was  rough 

In  his  seemed  musical  and  low. 

Men  called  him  but  a  shiftless  youth. 

In  whom  no  good  they  saw ; 
And  yet,  unwittingly,  in  truth 

They  made'  his  careless  words  their  law. 


188  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FIFTH    TEAK  FEBRUABY 

They  knew  not  how  he  learned  at  all, 

For  idly,  hour  by  hour. 
He  sat  and  watched  the  dead  leaves  fall, 

Or  mused  upon  a  common  flower. 

It  seemed  the  loveliness  of  things 

Did  teach  him  all  their  use, 
For,  in  mere  weeds,  and  stones,  and  springs, 

He  found  a  healing  power  profuse. 

Men  granted  that  his  speech  was  wise. 
But,  when  a  glance  they  caught 

Of  his  slim  grace  and  woman's  eyes. 

They    laughed,    and    called    him    good-for- 
naught. 

Yet  after  he  was  dead  and  gone. 

And  e'en  his  memory  dim. 
Earth  seemed  more  sweet  to  live  upon, 

More  full  of  love,  because  of  him. 

And  day  by  day  more  holy  grew 

Each  spot  where  he  had  trod. 
Till  after-poets  only  knew 

Their   first-born   brother   as   a   god. 

— James  Russell  Lowell, 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  18!) 


FIFTH    TEAR 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

THIS  man  whose  homely  face  you  look  upon, 
Was  one  of  Nature's  masterful  great  men ; 
Born  with  strong  arms  that  un fought  victories 

won. 
Direct  of  speech,  and  cunning  with  the  pen, 
Chosen  for  large  designs,  he  had  the  art 
Of  winning  with  his  humor,  and  he  went 
Straight  to  his  mark,  which  was  the  human  heart. 
Wise,  too,  for  what  he  could  not  break,  he  bent; 
Upon  his  back,  a  more  than  Atlas  load, 
The  burden  of  the  Commonwealth  was  laid ; 
He  stooped  and  rose  up  with  it,  though  the  road 
Shot  suddenly  downwards,  not  a  whit  dismayed. 
Hold,  warriors,  councillors,  kings!  All  now  give 

place 
To  this  dead  Benefactor  of  the  Race. 

— Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 


190  CHILD'ti  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

MARCH 

MARCH 

THE  stormy  March  is  come  at  last, 
With  wind,  and  cloud,  and  changing  skies ; 
I  hear  the  rushing  of  the  blast. 

That  through  the  snowy  valley  flies. 
Ah,  passing  few  are  they  who  speak, 

Wild,  stormy  month !  in  praise  of  thee ; 
Yet  though  thy  winds  are  loud  and  bleak. 

Thou  art  a  welcome  month  to  me. 
For  thou,  to  northern  lands,  again. 

The  glad  and  glorious  sun  dost  bring. 
And  thou  hast  joined  the  gentle  train 

And  wear'st  the  gentle  name  of  Spring. 
And,  in  thy  reign  of  blast  and  storm 

Smiles  many  a  long,  bright,  sunny  day, 
When  the  changed  winds  are  soft  and  warm, 

And  heaven  puts  on  the  blue  of  May. 
Then  sing  aloud  the  gushing  rills 

In  joy  that  they  again  are  free. 
And,  brightly  leaping  down  the  hills. 

Renew  their  journey  to  the  sea. 
The  year's  departing  beauty  hides 

Of  wintry  storms,  the  sullen  threat; 
But  in  thy  sternest  frown  abides 

A  look  of  kindly  promise  yet. 
Thou  brings't  the  hope  of  those  calm  skies. 

And  that  soft  time  of  many  showers. 
When  the  wide  bloom,  on  earth  that  lies, 

Seems  of  a  brighter  world  than  ours. 

— William  Cullen  Bryant. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  191 


FIFTH    YEAR 


THE  VOICE  OF  SPRING 

Icome !  I  come !  ye  have  called  me  long ; 
I  come  o'er  the  mountains  with  light  and  song! 
Ye  may  trace  my  steps  o'er  the  wakening  earth, 
By  the  winds  which  tell  of  the  violet's  birth, 
By  the  primrose  stars  in  the  shadowy  grass, 
By  the  green  leaves  opening  as  I  pass. 

I  have  sent  through  the  wood  paths  a  glowing 

sigh, 
And  called  out  each  voice  of  the  deep  blue  sky, 
From  the  night  bird's  lay  through  the  starry  time. 
In  the  groves  of  the  soft  Hesperian  clime. 
To  the  swan's  wild  note,  by  the  iceland  lakes, 
Where  the  dark  fir  branch  into  verdure  breaks. 

From  the  streams  and  founts  I  have  loosed  the 

chain. 
They  are  sweeping  on  to  the  silvery  main. 
They  are  flashing  down  from  the  mountain  brows, 
They  are  flinging  spray  o'er  the  forest  boughs, 
They  are  bursting  fresh  from  their  sparry  caves. 
And  the  earth  resounds  with  the  joy  of  waves ! 

Come  forth,  O  ye  children  of  gladness,  come ! 
Where  the  violets  lie  may  be  now  your  home. 
Ye  of  the  rose  lip  and  dew-bright  eye. 
And  the  bounding  footstep,  to  meet  me,  fly! 
With  the  lyre  and  the  wreath  and  the  joyous  lay, 
Com.e  forth  to  the  sunshine,  I  may  not  stay. 

— Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans. 


192  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

Othe  South  Wind  and  the  Sun! 
How  each  loved  the  other  one — 
Full  of  Fancy — full  of  folly — 
Full  of  jollity  and  fun ! 
How  they  romped  and   ran  about, 
Like  two  boys  when  school  is  out, 
With  glowing  face,  and  lisping  lip, 
Low  laugh,  and  Hfted  shout! 

And  the  South  Wind — he  was  dressed 
With  a  ribbon  round  his  breast 

That  floated,  flapped  and  fluttered 
In  a  riotous  unrest. 
And  a  drapery  of  mist, 
From  the  shoulder  and  the  wrist 

Flowing  backward  with  the  motion 
Of  the  waving  hand  he  kissed. 

And  the  Sun  had  on  a  crown 
Wrought  of  gilded  thistle-down. 

And  a  scarf  of  velvet  vapor, 

And  a  raveled-rainbow  gown ; 
And  his  tinsel-tangled  hair. 
Tossed  and  lost  upon  the  air. 

Was  glossier  and  flossier 
Than  any  anywhere. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  193 


FIFTH     YEAR 


And  the  South  Wind's  eyes  were  two 

Little  dancing  drops  of  dew, 
As  he  puffed  his  cheeks,  and  pursed  his  lips, 

And  blew,  and  blew,  and  blew ! 

And  the  Sun's — like  diamond-stone, 

Brighter  yet  than  ever  known, 
As  he  knit  his  brows,  and  held  his  breath, 

And  shone,  and  shone,  and  shone ! 

And  this  pair  of  merry  fays 

Wandered  through  the  summer  days; 
Arm-in-arm  they  went  together 

Over  heights  of  morning  haze — 

Over  slanting  slopes  of  lawn, 

They  went  on,  and  on,  and  on. 
Where  the  daisies  looked  like  star-tracks 

Trailing  up  and  down  the  dawn. 

******* 

— James  Whitcomh  Riley. 


THE  AVERAGE  MAN 

WHEN  it  comes  to  a  question  of  trusting 
Yourself  to  the  risks  of  the  road, 
When  the  thing  is  the  sharing  of  burdens, 

The  lifting  the  heft  of  a  load. 
In  the  hour  of  peril  or  trial. 

In  the  hour  you  meet  as  you  can, 
You  may  safely  depend  on  the  wisdom 
And  skill  of  the  average  man. 


194  CHILD'S   CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FIFTH    TEAR  APEIL 

'Tis  the  average  man  and  no  other 

Who  does  his  plain  duty  each  day, 
The  small  thing  his  wage  is  for  doing, 

On  the  commonplace  bit  of  the  way. 
'Tis  the  average  man,  may  God  bless  him, 

Who  pilots  us,  still  in  the  van. 
Over  land,  over  sea  as  we  travel, 

Just  the   plain,   hardy,   average   man. 

So  on  through  the  days  of  existence, 

All  mingling  in  shadow  and  shine, 
We  may  count  on  the  every-day  hero 

Whom  haply  the  gods  may  divine, 
But  who  wears  the  swart  grime  of  his  calling, 

And  labors  and  earns  as  he  can. 
And  stands  at  the  last  with  the  noblest, 

The  commonplace  average  man. 

— Margaret  E.  Songster. 


CHILD' 8  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  195 


WORK 

SWEET  wind,  fair  wind,  where  have  you 
been? 
"I've  been  sweeping  the  cobwebs  out  of  the  sky ; 
I've  been  grinding  a  grist  in  the  mill  hard  by; 
I've  been  laughing  at  work  while  others  sigh ; 

Let  those  laugh  who  win!" 

Sweet  rain,  soft  rain,  what  are  you  doing? 
"I'm  urging  the  corn  to  fill  out  its  cells ; 
I'm  helping  the  lily  to  fashion  its  bells; 
I'm  swelling  the  torrent  and  brimming  the  wells ; 

Is  that  worth  pursuing?" 

Redbreast,  redbreast,  what  have  you  done? 
"I've  been  watching  the  nest  where  my  fledge- 
lings lie ; 
I've  sung  them  to  sleep  with  a  lullaby; 
By  and  by  I  shall  teach  them  to  fly, 

Up  and  away,  every  one !" 

Honey-bee,  honey-bee,  where  are  you  going? 
'■To  fill  my  basket  with  precious  pelf; 
To  toil  for  my  neighbor  as  well  as  myself; 
To  find  out  the  sweetest  flower  that  grows, 
Be  it  a  thistle  or  be  it  a  rose — 

A  secret  worth  the  knowing!" 
Wind  and  rain  fulfilling  His  word! 
Tell  me,  was  ever  a  legend  heard 
Where  the  wind,  commanded  to  blow,  deferred; 
Or  the  rain,  that  was  bidden  to  fall,  demurred? 

— Mary  N.  Prescott. 


196  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

FIFTH     TEAR  MAY 

THE  FIFTIETH  BIRTHDAY  OF  AGASSIZ 

IT  was  fifty  years  ago, 
In  the  pleasant  month  of  May, 
In  the  beautiful  Pays  de  Vaud, 
A  child  in  its  cradle  lay. 

And  Nature,  the  old  nurse,  took 

The  child  upon  her  knee. 
Saying:  "Here  is  a  story-book 

Thy  Father  has  written  for  thee." 

"Come,  wander  with  me,"  she  said, 

"Into  regions  yet  untrod; 
And  read  what  is  still  unread 

In  the  manuscripts  of  God." 

And  he  wandered  away  and  away 
With  Nature,  the  dear  old  nurse. 

Who  sang  to  him  night  and  day 
The  rhymes  of  the  universe. 

And  whenever  the  way  seemed  long. 

Or  his  heart  began  to  fail. 
She  would  sing  a  more  wonderful  song,    , 

Or  tell  a  more  marvelous  tale. 

So  she  keeps  him  still  a  child. 

And  will  not  let  him  go. 
Though  at  times  his  heart  beats  wild 

For  the  beautiful  Pays  de  Vaud ; 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  197 


FIFTH     TEAR 


Though  at  times  he  hears  in  his  dreams 
The  *Ranz  des  Vaches  of  old, 

And  the  rush  of  mountain  streams 
From  glaciers  clear  and  cold ; 

And  the  mother  at  home  says,  "Hark! 

For  his  voice  I  listen  and  yearn; 
It  is  growing  late  and  dark, 

And  my  boy  does  not  return!" 

— Henry  W.  Longfellow. 


*Melodies  of  the  Swiss  mountaineers  blown  on  a  long  tube  called 
the  Alpine  horn,  and  sometimes  sung-. 


198  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


JUNE 


JUNE 

TUNE  in  the  grass! 
Ci     Daisies  and  buttercups,  lo,  they  surpass 
Coined  gold  of  kings  ;and  for  queendom,  the  rose, 
Bloom  of  the  month,  see  how  stately  she  goes. 
Blow,   winds,   and  waft   me  the   breathings   of 
flowers ; 

June's   in   her  bowers. 

June  overhead ! 
Al!  the  birds  know  it,  for  swift  they  have  sped 
Northward,  and  now  they  are  singing  Hke  mad ; 
June  is  full-tide  for  them,  June  makes  them  glad. 
Hark,  the  bright  choruses  greeting  the  day — 
Sorrow,  away ! 

June  in  the  heart! 
Dormant  dim  dreamings  awake  and  upstart, 
Blood  courses  quicker,  some  sprite  in  my  feet 
Makes    rhythm    of    motion,    makes    wayfaring 

sweet — 
So,  outward  or  inward,  the  meaning  is  clear; 
Summer  is  here. 

— Richard  Burton. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  199 


FIFTH     TEAR 


LEANING  AND  LIFTING 

THERE  are  two  kinds  of  people  on  earth 
today, 
Just  two  kinds  of  people,  no  more,  I  say. 
Not  the  saint  and  the  sinner,  for  'tis  well  under- 
stood 
The  good  are  half  bad  and  the  bad  are  half  good ; 
Not  the  rich  and  the  poor,  for  to  count  a  man's 

wealth 
You  must  first  know  the  state  of  his  conscience 

and  health; 
Not  the  humble  and  proud,  for  in  Hfe's  little  span 
Who  puts  on  vain  airs  is  not  counted  a  man; 
Not  the  happy  and  sad,  for  the  swift-flying  years 
Bring  each  man  his  laughter  and  each  man  his 

tears. 
No !  the  two  kinds  of  people  on  earth  I  mean 
Are  the  people  who  lift  and  the  people  who  lean. 
Wherever  you  go  you  will  find  the  world's  masses 
Arc  always  divided  in  just  these  two  classes; 
And  oddly  enough  you  will  find,  too,  I  ween, 
There  is  only  one  lifter  to  twenty  who  lean. 
In  which  class  are  you  ?    Are  you  easing  the  load 
Of  overtaxed  lifters  who  toil  down  the  road? 
Or  are  you  a  leaner  who  lets  others  bear 
Your  portion  of  labor  and  worry  and  care? 

— Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 


200  CHILD'S   CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

JULY 

BATTLE  HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC 

AINE  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  com- 
ing of  the  Lord ; 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes 

of  wrath  are  stored ; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  the  ter- 
rible, swift  sword, 

His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred 

circling  camps ; 
They  have  builded  him  an  altar  in  the  evening 

dews  and  damps ; 
I  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim 

and  flaring  lamps ; 

His  days  are  marching  on. 

I  have  read   a  fiery  gospel,   writ   in  burnished 

rows  of  steel ; 
As  ye   deal  with  my  contemners,   so  with  you 

my  grace  shall  deal ; 
Let  the  Hero  born  of  woman  crush  the  serpent 

with  his  heel, 

Since  God  is  marching  on. 

He   has   sounded   forth   the  trumpet   that   shall 

never  call  retreat ; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His 

judgment  seat ; 
O,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him,  be  jubilant 

my  feet ! 

Our  God  is  marching  on. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  201 

FIFTH    YEAR  JOLT 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across 

the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you 

and  me; 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make 

men  free, 

While  God  is  marching  on. 

— Julia  Ward  Howe. 


THE  AMERICAN  FLAG. 

\  .  /HEN  Freedom,  from  her  mountain  height, 
**  ^      Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 
She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 

And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 
She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 
The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies. 
And  striped  its  pure,  celestial  white 
With  streakings   of  the   morning  light; 
Then,  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun. 
She  called  her  eagle  bearer  down, 
And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 
The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 


202  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAVTIFVL 


FIFTH    TEAR 


Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud! 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 
To  hear  the  tempest  trumpings  loud 
And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 

When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storms. 
And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven — 
Child  of  the  sun !  to  thee  'tis  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free ; 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  ward  away  the  battle-stroke ; 
And  bid  its  blending  shine  afar, 
Like  rainbows  on  the  clouds  of  war, 

The  harbingers  of  victory! 

Flag  of  the  brave !  thy  folds  shall  fly, 
The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high ! 
When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone, 
And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on. 
Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet. 
Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet, 
Each  soldier  eye  shall  brightly  turn 
To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn, 
And,  as  his  springing  steps  advance. 
Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance; 
And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 
Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle-shroud. 
And  gory  sabres   rise  and  fall, 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall. 
Then  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow. 

And  cowering  foes  shall  shrink  beneath 
Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 

That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  203 

FIFTH     YEAR  JULY 

Flag  of  the  seas !  on  ocean  wave 
Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave, 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale, 
Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail. 
And  frightened  waves  rush  wildly  back 
Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack; 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 
Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home, 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given. 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome. 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
Forever   float  that   standard   sheet! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us. 
With  Freedoms  soil  beneath  our  feet. 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us ! 
— Joseph  Rodman  Drake. 


204  CHILD'S  CALENDAii  BEAUTIFUL 

AUGUST 

WINGS 

WINGS  that  flutter  in  sunny  air; 
Wings  that  dive  and  dip  and  dare ; 

Wings  of  the  humming  bird  flashing  by; 

Wings  of  the  lark  in  the  purple  sky ; 

Wings  of  the  eagle  aloft,  aloof; 

Wings  of  the  pigeon  upon  the  roof; 

Wings  of  the  storm  bird  swift  and  free, 

With  wild  winds  sweeping  across  the  sea : 
Often  and  often  a  voice  in  me  sings, — 
O,  for  the  freedom,  the  freedom  of  wings ! 

O,  to  winnow  the  air  with  wings ; 

O,  to  float  far  above  hurtful  things — 

Things  that  weary  and  wear  and  fret; 

Deep  in  the  azure  to  fly  and  forget ; 

To  touch  in  a  moment  the  mountain's  crest. 

Or  haste  to  the  valley  for  home  and  rest ; 

To  rock  with  the  pine  tree  as  wild  birds  may; 

To  follow  the  sailor  a  summer's  day ; 

Over  and  over  a  voice  in  me  sings, — 

O,  for  the  freedom,  the  freedom  of  wings ! 

Softly  responsive  a  voice  in  me  sings, — 
Thou  hast  the  freedom,  the  freedom  of  wings ; 
Soon  as  the  glass  a  second  can  count, 
Into  the  heavens  thy  heart  may  mount ; 
Hope  may  fly  to  the  topmost  peak ; 
Love  its  nest  in  the  vale  may  seek ; 
Outspeeding  the  sailor.  Faith's  pinions  may 
Touch  the  ends  of  the  earth  in  a  summer's  day. 
Softly  responsive  a  voice  in  me  sings, — 
Thou  hast  the  freedom,  the  freedom  of  wings. 

— Mary  F.  Butts. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BjiiAUTIFVL  205 


FIFTH    TEAR 


OPPORTUNITY 

THIS  I  beheld,  or  dreamed  it  in  a  dream: 
There  spread  a  cloud  of  dust  along  a  plain, 
And  underneath  the  cloud,  or  in  it,  raged 
A  furious  battle,  and  men  yelled,  and  swords 
Shocked   upon   swords   and   shields.   A  prince's 

banner 
Wavered,  then  staggered  backward,  hemmed  by 
foes. 

A  craven  hung  along  the  battle's  edge. 

And  thought :  "Had  I  a  sword  of  keener  steel — 

That  blue  blade  that  the  king's  son  bears, — but 

this 
Blunt  thing !"    He  snapped  and  flung  it  from  his 

hand, 
And  lowering  crept  away  and  left  the  field. 

Then  came  the  king's  son,  wounded,  sore  bestead, 
And  weaponless,  and  saw  the  broken  sword, 
Hilt  buried  in  the  dry  and  trodden  sand. 
And  ran  and  snatched  it,  and  with  battle  shout 
Lifted  afresh,  he  hewed  his  enemy  down. 
And  saved  a  great  cause  on  that  heroic  day. 

— Edivard  Rowland  Sill. 


SIXTH  YEAR 

No  life 
Can  be  pure  in  its  purpose  and  strong  in  its  strife, 
And  all  life  not  be  purer  and  stronger  thereby. 

— Owen  Meredith. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  209 


SEPTEMBER 


SEPTEMBER  DAYS 


CICADA  plays  his  viol  mid  the  grasses, 
The  last  shrill  sound  at  night,  the  first 
at  morn ; 
Late  poppies  grow  along  the  garden  passes. 

And  light  winds  gossip  in  the  ripening  corn. 

The  sluggish  creek,  in  meadows  lately  greening. 
Is  flushed  with  gold  and  purple,  either  brink ; 

From  dusty  hedge  the  last  wild  rose  is  leaving, 
A  deadly  pallor  on  her  lovely  pink. 

With  Tyrian  fruit  the  lowly  poke  is  laden; 

Wych-hazel  weaves  her  "thread  of  golden 
bloom ;" 
The  wandering  woodbine,  like  a  Gypsy  maiden, 

Warms  with  its  color  the  deep  forest's  gloom. 

The  morning  sows  with  pearls  Arachne's  weav- 
ing; 
The  orchard  peach  looks  out  with  cheeks 
a-blush ; 
From  shady  nook  the  ringdove's  note  of  grieving 
Floats' far  and  faint  upon  the  noontide  hush. 

By  country  roads  the  scarlet  sumac's  burning. 
And  over  zigzag  fences  spread  and  shine 

The  lush  dark  berries,  daily  turning 

Their  loyal  heart's  blood  into  purple  wine. 


210  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SIXTH    YEAR  SEPTEMBKE 

Down  the  lane  path,  where  the  cows  come  in  the 
gloaming, 

The  thistles  stand  with  faded  armor  on; 
In  buckwheat  bloom  the  weary  bees  are  roaming. 

To  gather  sweets  till  the  last  day  is  done. 

With  all  thy  gift  and  grace,  O  fair  September, 
Some  anniversaries  it  is  thine  to  bring, 

That  flood  unwilling  eyes  but  to  remember. 

And  choke  with  sighs  the  heart  that   fain 
would  sing. 

And  yet,  when  God  has  filled   the  earth  with 
beauty. 
And  given  the  soul  a  quickened  conscious- 
ness. 
One  may  go  forth  in  pleasant  ways  of  duty 

And  feel  the  chastening  Hand  in  close  caress. 

— Elliot  C.  True. 


SOMEBODY'S  MOTHER 

THE  woman  was  old,  and  ragged,  and  gray, 
And  bent  with  the  chill  of  the  winter's  day. 
The  street  was  wet  with  the  recent  snow. 
And  the  woman's  feet  were  aged  and  slow. 

She  stood  at  the  crossing  and  waited  long. 
Alone,  uncared  for,  amid  the  throng 
Of  human  beings  who  passed  her  by. 
Nor  heeded  the  glance  of  her  anxious  eye. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  211 

SIXTH    VEAR  SEPTEMBER 

Down  the  street  with  laughter  and  shout, 
Glad  in  the  freedom  of  school  "let  out," 
Came  the  boys  like  a  flock  of  sheep, 
Hailing  the  snow  piled  white  and  deep. 

Past  the  woman  so  old  and  gray. 

Hastened  the  children  on  their  way, 

Nor  offered  a  helping  hand  to  her. 

So  meek,  so  timid,  afraid  to  stir. 

Lest  the  carriage  wheels  or  the  horses'  feet 

Should  crowd  her  down  in  the  slippery  street. 

At  last  came  one  of  the  merry  troop, 
The  gayest  laddie  of  all  the  group ; 
He  paused  beside  her  and  whispered  low, 
"I'll  help  you  across  if  you  wish  to  go." 

Her  aged  hand  on  his  strong  young  arm 
She  placed,  and  so,  without  hurt  or  harm, 
He  guided  her  trembling  feet  along. 
Proud  that  his  own  were  firm  and  strong. 
Then  back  again  to  his  friends  he  went. 
His  young  heart  happy  and  well  content. 
"She's  somebody's  mother,  boys,  you  know, 
For  all  she's  aged  and  poor  and  slow; 

"And  I  hope  some  fellow  will  lend  a  hand 
To  help  my  mother,  you  understand. 
If  ever  she's  poor,  and  old,  and  gray. 
When  her  own  boy  is  far  away." 

And  "somebody's  mother"  bowed  low  her  head, 
In  her  home  that  night,  and  the  prayer  she  said. 
Was,  "God  be  kind  to  the  noble  boy. 
Who  is  somebody's  son  and  pride  and  joy." 


212  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


OCTOBER 


INDIAN  SUMMER 

A    soft  veil  dims  the  tender  skies, 

And  half  conceals  from  pensive  eyes 
The  bronzing  tokens  of  the  fall ; 
A  calmness  broods  upon  the  hills, 
And  summer's  parting  dream  distills 
A  charm  of  silence  over  all. 

The  stacks  of  corn,  in  brown  array, 
Stand  waiting  through  the  placid  day, 

Like  tattered  wigwams  on  the  plain; 
The  tribes  that  find  a  shelter  there 
Are  phantom  peoples,  forms  of  air, 

And  ghosts   of  vanished  joy  and  pain. 

At  evening  when  the  crimson  crest 
Of  sunset  passes  down  the  West, 

I  hear  the  whispering  host  returning; 
On  far-off  fields,  by  elm  and  oak, 
I  see  the  lights,  I  smell  the  smoke, — 

The  Camp-fires  of  the  Past  are  burning. 

— Henry  VanDyke. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  213 


SIXTH    YEAR 


FAME 

AND  what  shall  I  do  lest  life  in  silence  pass ? 
And  if  it  do, 
And  never  prompt  the  bray  of  noisy  brass, 

What  need'st  thou  rue? 
Remember,  aye  the  ocean  deeps  are  mute ; 

The  shallows  roar; 
Worth  is  the  ocean.  Fame  is  but  the  bruit 
Along  the  shore. 

What  shall  I  do  to  be  forever  known? — 

Thy  duty  ever. 
This  did  full  many  who  yet  slept  unknown. 

Oh  !  never,  never  !  [known 

Think'st  thou,  perchance,  that  they  remain  un- 

Whom  thoti  know'st  not? 
By  angel  trumps  in  heaven  their  praise  is  blown, 

Divine  their  lot ! 

What  shall  I  do  to  gain  eternal  life? 

Discharge  aright 
The  simple  duties  with  which  each  day  is  rife ! 

Yea,  with  all  thy  might! 

— Johann  F.  C.  von  Schiller. 


214  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

NOVEMBER 

PSALM    XIX 

THE  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God:  and 
the   firmament   showeth   his   handiwork. 

2.  Day  unto  day  uttereth  speech,  and  night 
unto  night  sheweth  knowledge. 

3.  There  is  no  speech  nor  language,  where 
their   voice   is    not   heard. 

4.  Their  line  is  gone  out  through  all  the 
earth,  and  their  words  to  the  end  of  the  world. 
In  them  hath  he  set  a  tabernacle  for  the  sun, 

5.  Which  is  as  a  bridegroom  coming  out 
of  his  chamber,  and  rejoiceth  as  a  strong  man 
to  run  a  race. 

6.  His  going  forth  is  from  the  end  of  the 
heaven,  and  his  circuit  unto  the  ends  of  it:  and 
there  is  nothing  hid  from  the  heat  thereof. 

7.  The  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  convert- 
ing the  soul:  the  testimony  of  the  Lord  is  sure, 
making  wise  the  simple. 

8.  The  statutes  of  the  Lord  are  right,  re- 
joicing the  heart :  the  commandment  of  the  Lord 
is  pure,  enlightening  the  eyes. 

9.  The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  clean,  enduring 
forever:  the  judgments  of  the  Lord  are  true  and 
righteous  altogether. 

10.     More  to  be  desired  are  they  than  gold, 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  215 

SIXTH    TEAR  NOVEMBER 

yea,   than    much   fine    gold :    sweeter   also    than 
honey  and  the  honeycomb. 

11.  Moreover  by  them  is  thy  servant 
warned:  and  in  keeping  of  them  there  is  great 
reward. 

12.  Who  can  understand  his  errors?  cleanse 
thou  me  from  secret  faults. 

13.  Keep  back  thy  servant  also  from  pre- 
sumptuous sins ;  let  them  not  have  dominion 
over  me:  then  shall  I  be  upright,  and  I  shall 
be  innocent  from  the  great  transgression. 

14.  Let  the  words  of  my  mouth,  and  the 
meditation  of  my  heart,  be  acceptable  in  thy 
sight,  O  Lord,  my  strength,  and  my  redeemer. 

— The  Bible. 


THE  PETRIFIED  FERN 

IN  a  valley,  centuries  ago. 
Grew  a  little  fern  leaf  green  and  slender, 
Veining  delicate  and  fibers  tender, 
Moving  when  the  wind  crept  down  so  low ; 
Rushes  tall,  and  moss,  and  grass  grew  round  it; 
Playful  sunbeams  darted  in  and  found  it, 
Drops  of  dew  stole  down  by  night  and  crowned  it ; 
But  no  foot  of  man  e'er  came  that  way; 
Earth  was  young  and  keeping  holiday. 


216  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SIXTH    TEAR  NOYBMBBR 

Monster  fishes  swam  the  silent  main; 

Stately  forests  waved  their  giant  branches ; 

Mountains  hurled  their  snowy  avalanches; 
Mammoth  creatures  stalked  across  the  plain; 

Nature  reveled  in  grand  mysteries ; 

But  the  little  fern  was  not  like  these, 

Did  not  slumber  with  the  hills  and  trees, 
Only  grew  and  waved  its  sweet  wild  way; 
No  man  came  to  note  it  day  by  day. 

Earth  one  time,  put  on  a  froHc  mood. 

Heaved  the  rocks  and  changed  the  mighty 

motion 
Of  the  strong  deep  currents  of  the  ocean; 

Moved  the  hills  and  shook  the  haughty  wood; 
Crushed  the  little  fern  in  soft,  moist  clay, 
Covered  it  and  hid  it  safe  away. 

O  the  changes!     O  life's  bitter  cost. 

Since  the  little  useless   fern  was  lost ! 

Useless?  Lost?  There  came  a  thoughtful  man 
Searching  Nature's  secrets  far  and  deep; 
From  a  fissure  in  a  rocky  steep 

He  withdrew  a  stone,  o'er  which  there  ran 
Fairy  pencilings,  a  quaint  design. 
Leafage,  veining,  fibers,  clear  and  fine. 
And  the  fern's  life  lay  in  every  line. 

So,  I  think  God  hides  some  souls  away, 

Sweetly  to  surprise  us  the  Last  Day. 

— Mary  Bolles  Branch. 


CHILD'S  CALLNDAR  BEAUTIFUL  217 


DECEMBER 

CHRISTMAS  BELLS 

1   heard  the  bells  on  Christmas  Day 
Their  old,   familiar  carols  play, 
And  wild  and  sweet 
The  words  repeat 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men! 

And  thought  how,  as  the  day  had  come, 
The  belfries  of  all  Christendom 

Had  rolled  along 

The   unbroken   song 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men ! 

Till,  ringing,  singing  on  its  w^ay, 

The  world  revolved  from  night  to  day, 

A  voice,  a  chime, 

A  chant  sublime 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men ! 

Then  from  each  black  accursed  mouth 
The  cannon  thundered  in  the  South, 

And  with  the  sound 

The  carols   drowned 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men ! 

It  was  as  if  an  earthquake  rent 
The  hearth-stones  of  a  continent. 

And  made  forlorn 

The  households  born 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men ! 


218  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SIXTH    TEAR 


And  in  despair  I  bowed  my  head; 
"There  is  no  peace  on  earth/    I  said; 

For  hate  is  strong, 

And  mocks  the  song 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men !" 
Then  pealed  the  bells  more  loud  and  deep; 
"God  is  not  dead ;  nor  doth  he  sleep ! 
The  Wrong  shall  fail, 
The  Right  prevail, 

With  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men !" 

— Longfellow. 


WHEN  DADDY  LIGHTS  THE  TREE 

WE  have  our  share  of  ups  and  downs, 
Our  cares  like  other  folk; 
The  pocketbook  is  sometimes  full. 

We're  sometimes  well  nigh  broke; 
But  once  a  year,  at  Christmas  time. 

Our  hearth  is  bright  to  see ; 
The  baby's  hand  just  touches  heaven 

When  Daddy  lights  the  tree. 
For  weeks  and  weeks  the  little  ones 

Have  lotted  on  this  hour; 
And  mother,  she  has  planned  for  it 

Since  summer's  sun  and  shower. 
With  here  a  nickel,  there  a  dime. 

Put  by  where  none  should  see, 
A  loving  hoard  against  the  night 

When  Daddy  lights  the  tree. 
The  tiny  tapers  glow  like  stars ; 

They  mind  us  of  the  flame 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  219 


SIXTH    TEAR 


That  rifted  once  the  steel-blue  sky 

The  morn  the  Christ-child  came; 
The  blessed  angels  sang  to  earth 

Above  that  far  countree — 
We  think  they  sing  above  our  hearth 

When  Daddy  lights  the  tree. 
The  weest  kid  in  mother's  arms 

Laughs  out  and  claps  her  hands, 
The  rest  of  us  on  tiptoe  wait ; 

The  grown-up  brother  stands 
Where  he  can  reach  the  topmost  branch, 

Our  Santa  Claus  to  be, 
In  that  sweet  hour  of  breathless  joy 

When  Daddy  lights  the  tree. 
****** 

'Tis  Love  that  makes  the  world  go  round, 

'Tis  Love  that  lightens  toil, 
'Tis  Love  that  lays  up  treasure  which 

Nor  moth  nor  rust  can  spoil; 
And  Love  is  in  our  humble  home. 

In  largesse  full  and  free. 
We  all  are  very  close  to  heaven 

When  Daddy  lights  the  tree. 
We  pray  that  little  orphaned  ones 

May  have  some  share  of  bliss, 
Nor  when  the  Yule-tide  fires  burn 

Their  bit  of  gladness  miss; 
From  our  rich  store  we're  fain  to  send 

Where'er  such  children  be 
A  present  as  from  friend  to  friend 

When  Daddy  lights  the  tree. 

— Marmret  E.  Songster. 


220  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

THE  BURIAL  OF  MIOSES 

BY  Nebo's  lonely  mountain, 
On  this  side  Jordan's  wave, 
In  a  vale  in  the  land  of  Moab, 

There  lies  a  lonely  grave ; 
And  no  man  knows  that  sepulcher, 

And  no  man  saw  it  e'er, 
For  the  angels  of  God  upturned  the  sod, 
And  laid  the  dead  man  there. 

That  was  the  grandest  funeral 

That  ever  passed  on  earth ; 
But  no  man  heard  the  trampling. 

Or  saw  the  train  go  forth, — 
Noiselessly  as  the  daylight 

Comes  back  when  night  is  done, 
And  the  crimson  streak  on  ocean's  cheek 

Grows  into  the   great   sun, — 

Noiselessly  as  the  springtime 

Her  crown  of  verdure  weaves. 
And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  hills 

Open  their  thousand  leaves; 
So  without  sound  of  music, 

Or  voice  of  them  that  wept, 
Silently  down  from  the  mountain's  crown 

The  great  procession  swept. 

Perchance  the  bald  old  eagle, 
On  gray  Beth-peor's  height. 

Out  of  his  lonely  eyrie. 

Looked  on  the  wondrous  sight; 


CHILD'S  CALEy'DAR  BEirTIFUL  231 


Perchance  the  lion  staHdng 

Still  shuns  the  hallowed  spot. 

For  beast  and  bird  have  seen  and  heard 
That  which  man  know^ii  not. 

But  when  the  warrior  dieth, 

His  comrades  in  the  vczr. 
With  arms  reversed  and  muSied  drum, 

Follow  his  funeral  car; 
They  show  the  banners  taken. 

They  tell  his  battles  won. 
And  after  him  lead  his  masterless  steed. 

While  peals  the  minute  gun. 

Amid  the  noblest  of  the  land 

We  lay  the  sage  to  rest. 
And  give  the  bard  an  honored  place. 

With  costly  marble  dressed. 

In  the  great  minster  transept 

Where  lights  like  glories  fall, 

And  the  organ  rings,  and  the  sweet  chcar 
sing's. 
Along  the  emblazoned  walL 

This  TS'as  tl:;e  truest  warrior 

That  ever  buckled  sword. — 
This  the  most  gifted  poet 

That  ever  breatlied  a  word: 
And  never  earth's  philosopher 

Traced  with  liis  golden  pen. 
On  the  deathless  page,  truths  half  so  sage 

As  he  wrote  down  for  m.en. 


222  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


sd;th  year 


And  had  he  not  high  honor — 

The  hillside  for  a  pall, — 
To  lie  in  state  while  angels  wait, 

With  stars  for  tapers  tall, — 
And  the  dark  rock  pines,  like  tossing  plumes, 

Over  his  bier  to  wave. 
And  God's  own  hand  in  that  lonely  land, 

To  lay  him  in  the  grave? 

In  that  strange  grave  without  a  name, 

Whence  his  uncofiined  clay 
Shall  break  again,  oh,  wondrous  thought! 

Before  the  Judgment  Day, 
And  stand,  with  glory  wrapped  around, 

On  the  hills  he  never  trod, 
And  speak  of  the  strife  that  won  our  life, 

With  the  Incarnate  Son  of  God. 

O  lonely  grave  in  Moab's  land ! 

O  dark  Beth-peor's  hill! 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours. 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  His  mysteries  of  grace. 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell ; 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  hidden  sleep 

Of  him  He  loved  so  well. 

— Mrs.  Cecil  Frances  Alexander. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  223 


SIXTH    YEAR 


HOHENLINDEN 

ON  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden  snow; 
And  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

But  Linden  saw  another  sight, 
When  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night 
Commanding  fires  of  death  to  light 
The  darkness  of  her  scenery. 

By  torch  and  trumpet  fast  array'd 
Each  horseman  drew  his  battle-blade, 
And  furious  every  charger  neigh'd 
To  join  the  dreadful  revelry. 

Then  shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven ; 
Then  rush'd  the  steed,  to  battle  driven ; 
And  louder  than  the  bolts  of  Heaven 
Far  flash'd  the  red  artillery. 

But  redder  yet  that  light  shall  glow 
On  Linden's  hills  of  stained  snow ; 
And  bloodier  yet  the  torrent  flow 
Of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 

'Tis  morn;  but  scarce  yon  level  sun 
Can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling  dun, 
Where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun 
Shout  in  their  sulphurous  canopy. 


224  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


SIXTH    TEAR 


The  combat  deepens.     On,  ye  Brave 
Who  rush  to  glory,  or  the  grave ! 
Wave,  Munich!  all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  with  all  thy  chivalry ! 

Few,  few  shall  part,  where  many  meet! 
The  snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet. 
And  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
Shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulchre. 

— Thomas  Campbell. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  225 

FEBRUARY 

THE  HERITAGE 

THE  rich  man's  son  inherits  lands, 
And  piles  of  brick,  and  stone,  and  gold, 
And  he  inherits  soft  white  hands, 

And  tender  flesh  that  fears  the  cold, 
Nor  dares  to  wear  a  garment  old; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 
One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  cares ; 

The  bank  may  break,  the  factory  burn, 

A  breath  may  burst  his  bubble  shares, 

And  soft  white  hands  could  hardly  earn 
A  living  that  would  serve  his  turn; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  wants, 

His  stomach  craves   for  dainty   fare; 

With  sated  heart  he  hears  the  pants 

Of  toiling  hinds  with  brown  arms  bare. 
And  wearies  in  his  easy  chair ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

One  scarce  would  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit? 

Stout  muscles  and  a  sinewy  heart, 
A  hardy  frame,  a  hardier  spirit ; 

King  of  two  hands,  he  does  his  part 

In  every  useful  toil  and  art; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 


226  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SIXTH    TEAR  FEBBUAai 

What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit? 
Wishes  o'er  joyed  with  humble  things, 

A  rank  adjudged  by  toil-won  merit, 

Content  that  from  employment  springs, 
A  heart  that  in  his  labor  sings; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  doth  the  poor  man's  son  inherit? 
A  patience  learned  of  being  poor, 

Courage,  if  sorrow  come,  to  bear  it, 
A  fellow-feeling  that  is  sure 
To  make  the  outcast  bless  his  door; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

O  rich  man's  son !  there  is  a  toil 

That  with  all  others  level  stands; 

Large  charity  doth  never  soil. 

But  only  whiten,  soft  white  hands, — 
This  is  the  best  crop  from  thy  lands; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 

Worth  being  rich  to  hold  in  fee. 

O  poor  man's  son!  scorn  not  thy  state; 
There  is  worse  weariness  than  thine, 

In  merely  being  rich  and  great ; 

Toil  only  gives  the  soul  to  shine. 
And  makes  rest  fragrant  and  benign ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 

Worth  being  poor  to  hold  in  fee. 

*  ***** 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  227 


BliTH    YEAR 


FIND  A  WAY,  OR  MAKE  IT 

IT  was  a  noble  Roman, 
In  Rome's  imperial  day, 
Who  heard  a  coward  croaker, 

Before  the  Castle  say; 
"They're  safe  in  such  a  fortress ; 

There  is  no  way  to  shake  it !" 
"On — on,"  exclaimed  the  hero, 
"I'll  find  a  way,  or  make  it !" 

Is  fame  your  aspiration? 

Her  path  is  steep  and  high; 
In  vain  he  seeks  her  temple. 

Who  is  content  to  gaze  and  sigh; 
The  shining  throne  is  waiting. 

But  he  alone  can  take  it 
Who  says,  with  Roman  firmness, 

"I'll  find  a  way,  or  make  it !" 

Is  Learning  your  ambition? 

There  is  no  royal  road ; 
Alike  the  peer  and  peasant 

Must  climb  to  her  abode; 
Who  feels  the  thirst  of  knowledge. 

In  Helicon  may  slake  it 
If  he  has  still  the  Roman  will 

"To  find  a  way,  or  make  it!" 


-John  G.  Saxe. 


228  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


MARCH 

THE  TEN  COMMANDMENTS 
Exodus   XX,   3-18. 

3.     Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  before 


me. 


4.  Thou  shalt  not  make  unto  thee  any 
graven  image,  or  any  likeness  of  anything  that 
is  in  heaven  above,  or  that  is  in  the  earth  be- 
neath, or  that  is  in  the  water  under  the  earth : 

5.  Thou  shalt  not  bow  down  thyself  to 
them,  nor  serve  them :  for  I  the  Lord  thy  God  am 
a  jealous  God,  visiting  the  iniquity  of  the  fathers 
upon  the  children  unto  the  third  and  fourth  gen- 
eration of  them  that  hate  me ; 

6.  And  showing  mercy  unto  thousands  of 
them  that  love  me,  and  keep  my  commandments. 

7.  Thou  shalt  not  take  the  name  of  the 
Lord  thy  God  in  vain ;  for  the  Lord  will  not  hold 
him  guiltless  that  taketh  His  name  in  vain. 

8.  Remember  the  Sabbath  day,  to  keep  it 
holy. 

9.  Six  days  shalt  thou  labor  and  do  all  thy 
work: 

10.  But  the  seventh  day  is  the  Sabbath  of 
the  Lord  thy  God:  in  it  thou  shalt  not  do  any 
work,  thou,  nor  thy  son,  nor  thy  daughter,  thy 
manservant  nor  thy  maidservant,  nor  thy  cattle, 
nor  thy  stranger  that  is  within  thy  gates : 

11.  For  in  six  days  the  Lord  made  heaven 
and  earth,  the  sea,  and  all  that  in  them  is,  and 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  229 


SIXTH    TEAR 


rested    the    seventh    day:    wherefore    the    Lord 
blessed  the  seventh  day  and  hallowed  it. 

12.  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother:  that 
thy  days  may  be  long  upon  the  land  which  the 
Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee. 

13.  Thou  shalt  not  kill. 

14.  Thou  shalt  not  commit  adultery. 

15.  Thou  shalt  not  steal. 

16.  Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  witness 
against  thy  neighbor. 

17.  Thou  shalt  not  covet  thy  neighbor's 
house,  thou  shalt  not  covet  thy  neighbor's  wife, 
nor  his  manservant,  nor  his  maidserv^ant,  nor  his 
ox,  nor  his  ass,  nor  anything  that  is  thy  neigh- 
bor's. 

— The  Bible. 


GRADATIM* 

[-]  EAVEN  is  not  reached  by  a  single  bound, 
1  1    But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 

From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 
And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 

I  count  this  thing  to  be  grandly  true. 

That  a  noble  deed  is  a  step  toward  God, 
Lifting  the  soul  from  the  common  clod 

To  a  purer  air  and  a  broader  view. 


230  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SIXTH    TEAR  JUNK 

We  rise  by  the  things  that  are  under  our  feet, 
By  what  we  have  mastered  of  good  or  gain ; 
By  the  pride  deposed,  or  the  passion  slain, 

And  the  vanquished  ills  that  we  hourly  meet. 

We  hope,  we  aspire,  we  resolve,  we  trust, 

When  the  morning  calls  to  life  and  light ; 
But  our  hearts  grow  weary,  and  ere  the  night 

Our  Hves  are  trailing  the  sordid  dust. 

We  hope,  we  resolve,  we  aspire,  we  pray; 

And  we  think  that  we  mount  the  air  on  wings 
Beyond  the  recall  of  earthly  things, 

While  our  feet  still  cling  to  the  heavy  clay. 

Wings  for  angels,  but  feet  for  men ! 

We  may  borrow  the  wings  to  find  the  way; 

We  may  hope,  and  resolve,  and  aspire,  and 
pray. 
But  our  feet  must  rise  or  we  fall  again. 

Only  in  dreams  is  a  ladder  thrown 

From  the  weary  earth  to  the  sapphire  walls ; 

But  the  dreams  depart  and  the  ladder  falls, 
And  the  sleeper  wakes  on  his  pillow  of  stone. 

Heaven  is  not  reached  at  a  single  bound. 

But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 

And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 

— Josiah  Gilbert  Holland. 


♦From  The  Poetical  Works  of  J.  G.  Holland.  Permission  from  Charles 
Scribner'a  Sons. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  231 

APRIL 

TO  THE  DANDELION 

DEAR   common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside 
the  way, 
Fringing  the  dusty  road  with  harmless  gold, 

First  pledge  of  blithesome  May, 
Which  children  pluck,  and,  full  of  pride  uphold, 
High-hearted  buccaneers,  o'erjoyed  that  they 
An  Eldorado  in  the  grass  have  found. 

Which  not  the  rich  earth's  ample  round 
INiay  match  in  wealth,  thou  art  more  dear  to  me 
Than  all  the  prouder   summer-blooms  may  be. 

Gold  such  as  thine  ne'er  drew  the  Spanish  prow 
Through  the  primeval  hush  of  Indian  seas. 

Nor  wrinkled  the  lean  brow 
Of  age,  to  rob  the  lover's  heart  of  ease ; 
'Tis  the  Spring's  largess  which  she  scatters  now 
To  rich  and  poor  alike,  with  lavish  hand, 

Though  most  hearts  never  under-stand 
To  take  it  at  God's  value,  but  pass  by 
The  offered  wealth  with  unrewarded  eye. 

Thou  art  my  tropics  and  my  Italy ; 

To  look  at  thee  unlocks  a  warmer  clime ; 

The  eyes  thou  givest  me 
Are  in  the  heart,  and  heed  not  space  or  time ; 

Not  in  mid  June  the  golden  cuirassed  bee 
Feels  a  more  summer-like  warm  ravishment 

In  the  white  lily's  breezy  tent. 
His  fragrant  Sybaris,  than  I,  when  first 
From  the  dark  sfreen  thv  vellow  circles  burst. 


282  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SIXTH    TEAR  APBIU 

Then  think  I  of  deep  shadows  on  the  grass, 
Of  meadows  where  in  sun  the  cattle  graze, 

Where,  as  the  breezes  pass, 
The  gleaming  rushes  lean  a  thousand  ways, 
Of  leaves  that  slumber  in  a  cloudy  mass, 
Or  whiten  in  the  wind,  of  waters  blue 

That  from  the  distance  sparkle  through 
Some  woodland  gap,  and  of  a  sky  above, 
Where  one  white  cloud  like  a  stray  lamb  doth 
move. 

My  childhood's  earliest  thoughts  are  linked  with 

thee; 
The  thought  of  thee  calls  back  the  robin's  song. 

Who  from  the  dark  old  tree 
Beside  the  door,  sang  clearly  all  day  long. 

And  I,  secure  in  childish  piety, 
Listened  as  if  I  heard  an  angel  sing 
V/ith  news  from  heaven,  which  he  could  bring 

Fresh  every  day  to  my  untainted  ears 
When  birds  and  flowers  and  I  were  happy  peers. 

How  like  a  prodigal  doth  nature  seem. 
When  thou,  for  all  thy  gold,  so  common  art ! 

Thou  teachest  me  to  deem 
More  sacredly  of  every  human  heart. 
Since  each  reflects  in  joy  its  scanty  gleam 
Of  heaven,  and  could  some  wondrous  secret  show, 

Did  we  but  pay  the  love  we  owe, 
And  with  a  child's  undoubting  wisdom  look 
On  all  these  living  pages  of  God's  book, 

— James  Russell  Lozvell. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  'ZS'i 


SIXTH    YEAR 


ROBIN'S  COME 

rRO^I  the  elm-tree's  topmost  bough, 
Hark !  the  Robin's  early  song ! 
Telling  one  and  all  that  now 

Merry  spring-time  hastes  along ; 
Welcome  tidings  dost  thou  bring, 
Little  harbinger  of  spring, 
Robin's  come ! 

Of  the  winter  we  are  weary, 

Weary  of  the  frost  and  snow. 

Longing  for  the  sunshine  cheery. 

And  the  brooklet's  gurgling  flow; 

Gladly  then  we  hear  thee  sing 

The  reveille  of  spring, 
Robin's  come ! 

Ring  it  out  o'er  hill  and  plain, 

Through  the  garden's  lonely  bowers, 
Till  the  green  leaves  dance  again, 

Till  the  air  is  sweet  with  flowers! 
Wake  the  cowslips  by  the  rill. 
Wake   the   yellow   daffodil ! 
Robin's  come ! 

—W.  W.  Caldwell 


234  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAVTIFVL 


Mi^Y 


LOVE  OF  COUNTRY 

BREATHES  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
This  is  my  own,  my  native  land? 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burned. 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned, 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand? 
If  such  there  breathe,  go  mark  him  well ! 
For  him  no  minstrel  raptures  swell ; 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim; 
Despite  those  titles,  power  and  pelf, 
The  wretch  concentered  all  in  self, 
Living  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  which  he  sprung. 
Unwept,  unhonored  and  unsung. 

— Sir  Walter  Scott. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  ^35 


SI^TH    YEAR 


NOLAN'S  SPEECH 

*From  The  Man  Without  a  Country. 

For  your  country,  boy,  and  for  that  flag, 
never  dream  a  dream,  but  of  serving  her  as  she 
bids  you,  though  the  service  carry  you  through 
a  thousand  hells.  No  matter  what  happens  to 
you,  no  matter  who  flatters  you  or  who  abuses 
you,  never  look  at  another  flag,  never  let  a 
night  pass  but  you  pray  God  to  bless  that  flag. 
Remember,  boy,  that  behind  all  these  men  you 
have  to  deal  with,  behind  officers,  and  govern- 
ment, and  people  even,  there  is  the  Country  Her- 
self, your  Country,  and  that  you  belong  to  Her 
as  you  belong  to  your  own  mother.  Stand  by 
Her,  boy,  as  you  would  stand  by  your  mother. 
— Edward  Everett  Hale. 


*By  special  permission  of  the  author. 


236  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


JUNE 


THE  MOSS  ROSE 

THE  angel  of  the  flowers,  one  day, 
J^eneath  a  rose  tree  sleeping  lay, — 
That  spirit  to  whose  charge  'tis  given 
To  bathe  young  buds  in  dews  of  heaven; 
Awaking  from  his  light  repose, 
The  angel  whispered  to  the  rose : 
"O,  fondest  object  of  my  care. 
Still  fairest  found,  where  all  are  fair; 
For  the  sweet  shade  thou  giv'st  to  me. 
Ask  what  thou  wilt,  'tis  granted  thee." 
"Then,"  said  the  rose,  with  deepened  glow, 
On  me  another  grace  bestow." 
The  spirit  paused,  in  silent  thought, — 
What  grace  was  there  that  flower  had  not? 
'Twas  but  a  moment, — o'er  the  rose 
A  veil  of  moss  the  angel  throws; 
And,  robed  in  nature's  simplest  Vv^eed, 
Could  there  a  flower  that  rose  exceed? 

— Krummacher. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  237 


SIXTH     YEAR 


TO  A  SKYLARK 

nAIL  to  thee,  blithe  Spirit ! 
Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it 
Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest, 

Like  a  cloud  of  fire, 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest. 
And  singingstill  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest. 

In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  sunken  sun 
O'er  which  clouds  are  brightning, 
Thou  dost  float  and  run. 
Like  an  unbodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 

The  pale  purple  even 

Melts  around  thy  flight; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven 

In  the  broad  daylight 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  I  hear  thy  shrill  delight ; 

Keen  as  are  the  arrows 

Of  that  silver  sphere, 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 

In  the  white  dawn   clear 
Until  we  hardly  see, — we  feel  that  it  is  there. 


238  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SIXTH    TEAR 


All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare, 

From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is 
overflow'd. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not; 

What  is  most  like  thee? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 

Drops  so  bright  to  see 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody ; — 

Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  thought, 
Singing  hymns  unbidden. 

Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not : 

Like  a  high-born  maiden 
In  a  palace  tower, 
Soothing  her  love-laden 

Soul  in  secret  hour 
With  music  sweet  as  love,  which  overflows  her 
bower : 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden 

In  a  dell  of  dew. 
Scattering  unbeholden 
Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass,which  screen  it  from 
the  view : 


CHILD  8  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  239 

SIXTH    TKAR  JTJTni 

Like  a  rose  embower'd 

In  its  own  green  leaves, 
By  warm  winds  deflower'd, 
Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes  faint  with  too  much  sweet  these  heavy- 
winged  thieves. 

Sound  of  vernal  showers 

On  the  twinkling  grass, 
Rain-awaken'd  flowers, 
All  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and  clear,  and  fresh,  thy  music  doth  sur- 
pass. 

Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine ; 

I  have  never  heard 

Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains? 
What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind?  what  ignorance 
of  pain? 


210  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SIXTH    YEAR  JUNE 

Waking  or  asleep 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 
Than  we  mortals  dream, 
Or  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such  a  crystal 
stream  ? 

We  look  before  and  after, 

And  pine  for  what  is  not : 
Our  sincerest  laughter 

With  some  pain  is  fraught; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest 
thought. 

Yet  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate,  and  pride,  and  fear; 
If  we  were  things  born 
Not  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  should  come  near 

Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 

That  in  books  are  found. 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the  ground  ! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know. 
Such  harmonious  madness 

From  my  lips  would  flow. 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening 
now !  — P.  B.  Shelley. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  241 


JULY 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  OPAL 

Adewdrop  came,  with  a  spark  of  flame 
He  had  caught  from  the  sun's  last  ray, 
To  a  violet's  breast,  where  he  lay  at  rest 
Till  the  hours  brought  back  the  day. 

The  rose  looked  down,  with  a  blush  and  frown ; 

But  she  smiled  all  at  once,  to  view 
Her  own  bright  form,  with  its  coloring  warm, 

Reflected  back  by  the  dew. 

Then  the  stranger  took  a  stolen  look 

At  the  sky,  so  soft  and  blue ; 
And  a  leaflet  green  with  its  silver  sheen, 

Was  seen  by  the  idler  too. 

A  cold  north  wind,  as  he  thus  reclined, 

Of  a  sudden  raged  around ; 
.And  a  maiden  fair,  who  was  walking  there. 

Next  morning,  an  opal  found. 


242  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SIXTH    TEAR 


FOREST  HYMN. 

HTHE  groves  were  God's  first  temples.    Ere  man 

^         learned 
To  hew  the  shaft,  and  lay  the  architrave, 
And  spread  the  roof  above  them, — ere  he  framed 
The  lofty  vault,  to  gather  and  roll  back 
The  sound  of  anthems, — in  the  darkling  wood, 
Amid  the  cool  and  silence,  he  knelt  down 
And  offered  to  the  Mightiest  solemn  thanks 
And  supplication.     Let  me,  then,  at  least. 
Here,  in  the  shadow  of  this  aged  wood. 
Offer  one  hymn — thrice  happy,  if  it  find 
Acceptance  in  His  ear. 

Father,  Thy  hand 
Hath  reared  these  venerable  columns ;  Thou 
Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.  Thou  didst  look 

down 
Upon  the  naked  earth,  and,  forthwith,  rose 
All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.    They  in  Thy  sun 
Budded,  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  Thy 

breeze. 
And  shot  toward  heaven.  The  century-living  crow 
Whose  birth  was  in  the  tops,  grew  old  and  died 
Among  their  branches, — till,  at  last,  they  stood. 
As  now  they  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dark, 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  243 

BIXTH    TEAK  JUI-T 

Fit  shrine  for  humble  worshiper  to  hold 
Communion  with  his  Maker.    These  dim  vaults, 
These  winding  aisles,  of  human  pomp  or  pride 
Report  not.     No  fantastic  carvings  show 
The  boast  of  our  vain  race  to  change  the  form 
Of  Thy  fair  works.     But  Thou  art  there;  Thou 

flll'st 
The  solitude ;  Thou  art  in  the  soft  winds 
That  run  along  the  summit  of  these  trees 
In  music;  Thou  art  in  the  cooler  breath, 
That,  from  the  inmost  darkness  of  the  place. 
Comes,    scarcely    felt;    the    barky    trunks,    the 

ground, 
The  fresh,  moist  ground,  are  all  instinct  with 

Thee.  — William  Ciillen  Bryant. 


244  CHILD'H^  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

OUR  KIND  OF  A  MAN 


THE  kind  of  a  man  for  you  and  me ! 
He  faces  the  world  unflinchingly, 
And  smites,  as  long  as  the  wrong  resists. 
With  a  knuckled  faith  and  force  like  fists ; 
He  lives  the  Hfe  he  is  preaching  of, 
And  loves  where  most  is  the  need  of  love ; 
His  voice  is  clear  to  the  deaf  man's  ears, 
And  his  face  sublime  through  the  blind  man's 

tears ; 
The  light  shines  out  where  the  clouds  were  dim, 
And  the  widow's  prayer  goes  up  for  him ; 
The  latch  is  clicked  at  the  hovel  door. 
And  the  sick  man  sees  the  sun  once  more, 
And  out  o'er  the  barren  fields  he  sees 
Springing  blossoms  and  waving  trees, 
Feeling,  as  only  the  dying  may. 
That  God's  own  servant  has  come  that  way. 
Smoothing  the  path  as  it  still  winds  on 
Through  the  golden  gate  where  his  loved  have 

gone. 

n. 

The  kind  of  a  man  for  me  and  you ! 
However  little  of  worth  we  do 
He  credits  full,  and  abides  in  trust 
That  time  will  teach  us  how  more  is  just. 
He  walks  abroad  and  he  meets  all  kinds 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  245 

SIXTH    TEAR  AUGUST 

Of  querulous  and  uneasy  minds, 

And,  sympathizing,  he  shares  the  pain 

Of  the  doubts  that  rack  us,  heart  and  brain ; 

And,  knowing  this,  as  we  grasp  his  hand, 

We  are  surely  coming  to  understand ! 

He  looks  on  sin  with  pitying  eyes — 

E'en  as  the  Lord,  since  Paradise, — 

Else,  should  we  read,  Though  our  sins  should 

glow 
As  scarlet,  they  shall  be  white  as  snow? — 
And  feeling  still,  with  a  grief  half  glad, 
That  the  bad  are  as  good  as  the  good  are  bad, 
He  strikes  straight  out  for  the  Right — and  he 
Is  the  kind  of  a  man  for  you  and  me ! 

— James  Whitcomh  Riley. 


SEVENTH  YEAR 

This  above  all, — to  thine  own  self  be  true; 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

— Shakespeare. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  2¥J 

SEPTEMBER 

ODE  TO  AUTUMN 

REASON  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness, 
*■ —     Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun ; 
Conspiring  with  h'im  how  to  load  and  bless 
With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch-eaves 

run ; 
To  bend  with  apples  the  moss'd  cottage-trees, 
And  fill  all  fruit  with  ripeness  to  the  core ; 
To  swell  the  gourd,  and  plump  the  hazel  shells 
With  a  sweet  kernel ;  to  set  budding  more, 
And  still  more,  later  flowers  for  the  bees, 
Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease ; 
For  Summer  has  o'erbrimm'd  their  clammy  cells. 

Who  hath  not  seen  thee  oft  amid  thy  store  ? 
Sometimes  whoever  seeks  abroad  may  find 
Thee  sitting  careless  on  a  granary  floor. 
Thy  hair  soft-lifted  by  the  winnowing  wind ; 
Or  on  a  half-reap'd  furrow  sound  asleep, 
Drowsed  with  the  fume  of  poppies,while  thy  hook 
Spares  the  next  swath  and  all  its  twined  flowers : 
And  sometimes  like  a  gleaner  thou  dost  keep 
Steady  thy  laden  head  across  a  brook ; 
Or  by  a  cyder-press,  with  patient  look. 
Thou  watchest  the  last  oozings,  hours  by  hours. 


250  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH    TEAR  SEFTEUBEK 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring?  Ay,  where  are 

they? 
Think  not  of  them,  thou  hast  thy  music  too, — 
While  barred  clouds  bloom  the  soft-dying  day 
And  touch  the  stubble-plains  with  rosy  hue; 
Then  in  a  wailful  choir  the  small  gnats  mourn 
Among  the  river-sallows,  borne  aloft 
Or  sinking  as  the  light  wind  lives  or  dies ; 
And    full-grown    lambs    loud    bleat    from    hilly 

bourn ; 
Hedge-crickets  sing;  and  now  with  treble  soft 
The  red-breast  whistles  from  a  garden-croft; 
And  gathering  swallows  twitter  in  the  skies. 

— /,  Keats 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  251 


SEVENTH    YEAB 


THE  SHELL 

SEE  what  a  lovely  shell, 
Small  and  pure  as  a  pearl, 
Lying  dose  to  my  foot, 
Frail,  but  a  work  divine. 
Made  so  fairily  well 
With  delicate  spine  and  whorl. 
How  exquisitely  minute, 
A  miracle  of  design! 
What  is  it?     A  learned  man 
Could  give  it  a  clumsy  name. 
Let  him  name  it  who  can. 
The  beauty  would  be  the  same. 
The  tiny  cell  is  forlorn. 
Void  of  the  little  living  will 
That  made  it  stir  on  the  shore. 
Did  he  stand  at  the  diamond  door 
Of  his  house  in  a  rainbow  frill? 
Did  he  push,  when  he  was  uncurl'd, 
A  golden  foot  or  a  fairy  horn 
Thro'  his  dim  water- world? 
Slight,  to  be  crushed  with  a  tap 
Of  my  finger  nail  on  the  sand. 
Small,  but  a  work  divine, 
Frail,  but  of  force  to  withstand. 
Year  upon  year,  the  shock 
Of  cataract  seas  that  snap 
The  three  decker's  open  spine 
Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock, 
Here  on  the  Breton  strand ! 

— Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 


252  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

OCTOBER 

TO  A  WATER-FOWL 

WHITHER,  midst  falling  dew, 
While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps 
of  day. 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 
Thy  solitary  way? 

Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 
Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  seen  against  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek'st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 
Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 

On  the  chafed  ocean-side? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold  thin  atmosphere. 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land. 

Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end ; 
Scon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home  and  rest. 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows ;  reeds  shall  bend. 

Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  253 

SEVENTH    YEAR  OCTOBER 

Thou  'rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form ;  yet  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  has  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

He  who  from  zone  to  zone. 
Guides  through  the  boundless   sky  thy   certain 

flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 
Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 

— William  Ciillen  Bryant. 


THE  BURIAL  OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORE  AT 
CORUNNA 

NOT  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  noT:e, 
As  his  corpse  to  the  rampart  was  hurried ; 
Not  a  solider  discharged  his  farewell  shot 

O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

\\^e  hurried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 
The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning; 

By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast. 

Not  in  sheet  or  in  shroud  we  wound  him ; 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest. 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 


254  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH    YEAR  OCTOBER 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 
And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow ; 

But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  that  was 
dead, 
And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

We  thought,  as  we  hollow'd  his  narrow  bed 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow. 

That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er 
his  head, 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow. 

Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that's  gone 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him, — 

But  little  he'll  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done 

When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring : 

And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory; 

We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone. 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 

—C.  Wolf. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  255 


NOVEMBER 

PSALM   XC 

1.  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling  place 
in  all  generations. 

2.  Before  the  mountains  were  brought 
forth,  or  ever  thou  hadst  formed  the  earth  and 
the  world,  even  from  everlasting  to  everlasting, 
thou  art  God. 

3.  Thou  turnest  man  to  destruction;  and 
sayest.  Return,  ye  children  of  men. 

4.  For  a  thousand  years  in  thy  sight  are 
but  as  yesterday  when  it  is  past,  and  as  a  watch 
in  the  night. 

5.  Thou  carriest  them  away  as  with  a 
flood ;  they  are  as  a  sleep ;  in  the  morning  they 
are  like  grass  which  groweth  up. 

6.  In  the  morning  it  flourisheth,  and  grow- 
eth up ;  in  the  evening  it  is  cut  down,  and  with- 
ereth. 

7.  For  we  are  consumed  by  thine  anger, 
and  by  thy  wrath  are  we  troubled. 

8.  Thou  hast  set  our  iniquities  before  thee, 
our  secret  sins  in  the  light  of  thy  countenance. 

g.  For  all  our  days  are  passed  away  in  thy 
wrath ;  we  spend  our  years  as  a  tale  that  is  told. 

10.  The  days  of  our  years  are  threescore 
years  and  ten ;  and  if  by  reason  of  strength  they 
be  fourscore  years,  yet  is  their  strength  labor 
and  sorrow ;  for  it  is  soon  cut  oflF,  and  we  fly 
away. 

11.  Who  knoweth  the  power  of  thine  anger? 
even  according  to  thy  fear,  so  is  thy  wrath. 


256  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SiiVENTH    YEAR  NOVEMBEK 

12.  So  teach  us  to  number  our  days,  that 
we  may  apply  our  hearts  unto  wisdom. 

13.  Return,  O  Lord,  how  long?  and  let  it 
repent  thee  concerning  thy  servants. 

14.  O  satisfy  us  early  with  thy  mercy;  that 
we  may  rejoice  and  be  glad  all  our  days. 

15.  Make  us  glad  according  to  the  days 
wherein  thou  hast  afflicted  us,  and  the  years 
wherein  we  have  seen  evil. 

16.  Let  thy  work  appear  unto  thy  servants, 
and  thy  glory  unto  their  children. 

17.  And  let  the  beauty  of  the  Lord  our  God 
be  upon  us :  and  establish  thou  the  work  of  our 
hands  upon  us ;  yea,  the  work  of  our  hands  es- 
tablish thou  it. 

—The  Bible. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  257 


BiTENTH    YEAK 


RECESSIONAL 

GOD  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old — 
Lord  of  our  far-flung  battle  line — 
Beneath  whose  awful  hand  we  hold 

Dominion  over  palm  and  pine — 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 
The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies — 

The  captains  and  the  kings  depart — 
Still  stands  Thine  ancient  sacrifice, 

An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart. 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet. 

Lest  we  forget, — lest  we  forget! 
Far-called  our  navies  melt  away — 

On  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire — 
Lo,  all  our  pom.p  of  yesterday 

Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre ! 
Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet. 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 
If  drunk  with  sight  of  power,  we  loose 

Wild  tongues  that  have  not  Thee  in  awe — 
Such  boasting  as  the  Gentiles  use. 

Or  lesser  breeds  without  the  Law — 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet. 

Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget! 
P'or  heathen  heart  that  puts  her  trust 

In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard — 
All  valiant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 

And  guarding  calls  not  Thee  to  guard. 
For   frantic  boast  and   foolish  word, 

Thy  Mercy  on  Thy  People,  Lord ! 

Amen.  — Rudyard  Kipling. 


258  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

DECEMBER 

THE  SNOW-STORM 

ANNOUNCED  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky, 
Ai  rives  the  snow,  and,  driving  o'er  the  fields, 
Seems  nowhere  to  alight;  the  whited  air 
Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river,  and  the  heaven. 
And  veils  the  farmhouse  at  the  garden's  end. 
The  sled  and  traveller  stopped,  the  courier's  feet 
Delayed,  all  friends  shut  out,  the  housemates  sit 
Around  the  radiant  fireplace,  enclosed 
In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm. 

Come  see  the  north  wind's  masonry. 
Out  of  an  unseen  quarry  evermore 
Furnished  with  tile,  the  fierce  artificer 
Curves  his  white  bastians  with  projected  roof 
Round  every  windward  stake,  or  tree,  or  door. 
Speeding,  the  myriad-handed,  his  wild  work 
So  fanciful,  so  savage,  naught  cares  he 
For  number  or  proportion.  Mockingly, 
On  coop  or  kennel  he  hangs  Parian  wreaths ; 
A  swan-like  form  invests  the  hidden  thorn; 

Fills  up  the  farmer's  lane  from  wall  to  wall, 
Maugre  the  farmer's  sighs ;  and  at  the  gate 
A  tapering  turret  overtops  the  work. 
And  when  his  hours  are  numbered,  and  the  world 
Is  all  his  own,  retiring,  as  he  were  not, 
Leaves,  when  the  sun  appears,  astonished  Art 
To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by  stone, 
Built  in  an  age,  the  mad  wind's  night-work. 
The  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow. 

— Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFVL  259 


SEVENTH     TEAR 


RING  OUT,  WILD  BELLS 

RING  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky, 
The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light ; 
The  year  is  dying  in  the  night ; 
Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new, 

Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow; 
The  year  is  going,  let  him  go: 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind. 
For  those  that  here  we  see  no  more ; 
Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor, 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind. 

Ring  out  a  slowly  dying  cause, 

And  ancient  forms  of  party  strife; 
Ring  in  the  nobler  modes  of  life, 

With  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws. 

Ring  out  the  want,  the  care,  the  sin. 
The  faithless  coldness  of  the  times, 
Ring  out,  ring  out  my  mournful  rhymes, 

But  ring  the  fuller  minstrel  in. 

Ring  out  false  pride  in  place  and  blood. 
The  civic  slander  and  the  spite ; 
Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right. 

Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 


2r.O  CHILD'8  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH     YEAR  DECEMBER 

Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease ; 

Ring  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold ; 

Ring  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old,. 
Ring  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace. 

Ring  in  the  valiant  man  and  free, 

The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand ; 
Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land, 

Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be. 

— Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  261 


JANUARY 


WINTER 

THE  sun  that  brief  December  day 
Rose  cheerless  over  hills  of  gray, 
And,  darkly  circled,  gave  at  noon 
A  sadder  light  than  waning  moon. 
Slow  tracing  down  the  thickening  sky 
Its  mute  and  ominous  prophecy, 
A  portent  seeming  less  than  threat. 
It  sank  from  sight  before  it  set. 
A  chill  no  coat,  however  stout. 
Of  homespun  stuff  could  quite  shut  out, 
A  hard,  dull  bitterness  of  cold, 
That  checked,  mid-vein,  the  circling  race 
Of  life-blood  in  the  sharpened  face, 
The  coming  of  the  snow-storm  told. 
The  wind  blew  east ;  we  heard  the  roar 
Of  Ocean  on  his  wintry  shore, 
And  felt  the  strong  pulse  throbbing  there 
Beat  with  low  rhythm  our  inland  air. 

:f;  >ii  :j<  :};  :ic  ^  ^ 

Unwarmed  by  any  sunset  light 

The  gray  day  darkened  into  night, 

A  night  made  hoary  with  the  swarm. 

And   whirl-dance   of   the   blinding   storm. 

As  zigzag  wavering  to  and  fro 

Crossed  and  recrossed  the  winged  snow : 

And  ere  the  early  bedtime  came 

The  white  drift  piled  the  window-frame, 

And  through  the  glass  the  clothes-line  posts 

Looked  in  like  tall  and  sheeted  ghosts. 


262  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH    TEAK  '  JANTIAEY 

So  all  night  long  the  storm  roared  on; 

The  morning  broke  without  a  sun; 

In  tiny  spherule  traced  with  lines 

Of  Nature's  geometric  signs, 

In  starry  flake,  and  pellicle, 

All  day  the  hoary  meteor  fell; 

And,  when  the  second  morning  shone. 

We  looked  upon  a  world  unknown. 

On  nothing  we  could  call  our  own. 

Around  the  glistening  wonder  bent 

The  blue  walls  of  the  firmament. 

No  cloud  above,  no  earth  below, — 

A  universe  of  sky  and  snow ! 

The  old  familiar  sights  of  ours 

Took  marvelous  shapes ;  strange  domes  and 

towers 
Rose  up  where  sty  or  corn-crib  stood, 
Or  garden  wall,  or  belt  of  wood ; 
A    smooth    white    mound    the    brush-pile 

showed, 
A  fenceless  drift  what  once  was  road. 
The  bridle-post  an  old  man  sat 
With  loose-flung  coat  and  high  cocked  hat; 
The  well-curb  had  a  Chinese  roof ; 
And  even  the  long  sweep,  high  aloof, 
In  its  slant  splendor  seemed  to  tell 
Of  Pisa's  leaning  miracle, 
— From  Snowbound — John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  263 


SEVENTH    YEAR 


THE  BELLS 

nEAR  the  sledges  with  the  bells — 
Silver  bells — 
What  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  foretells 
How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 

In  the  icy  air  of  night ! 
While  the  stars  that  oversprinkle 
All  the  heavens,  seem  to  twinkle 
With  a  crystalline  delight; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 
To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells — 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells. 

Hear  the  mellow  wedding-bells. 

Golden  bells ! 

What  a  world  of  happiness  their  harmony  foretells  ! 

Through  the  balmy  air  of  night 

How  they  ring  out  their  delight 

From  the  molten-golden  notes ! 

And  all  in  tune. 
What  a  liquid  ditty  floats 
To  the  turtle-dove  that  listens,  while  she  gloats 
On  the  moon! 


26i  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH    TEAR  JANTJARY 

Oh,  from  out  the  sounding  cells, 
What  a  gush  of  euphony  voluminously  wells ! 
How  it  swells ! 
How  it  dwells 
On  the  Future !  how  it  tells 
Of  the  rapture  that  impels 
To  the  swinging  and  the  ringing 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells, — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells — 
To  the  rhyming  and  the  chiming  of  the  bells ! 

Hear  the  loud  alarum  bells- 
Brazen  bells ! 
What  a  tale  of  terror,  now,  their  turbulency  tells ! 
In  the  startled  ear  of  night 
How  they  scream  out  their  affright ! 
Too  much  horrified  to  speak. 
They  can  only  shriek,  shriek, 
Out  of  tune, 
In  a  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire, 
In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  deaf  and  frantic 
fire, 
Leaping  higher,  higher,  higher, 
With  a  desperate  desire. 
And  a  resolute  endeavor. 
Now — now  to  sit  or  never, 
By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Oh,  the  bells,  bells,  bells! 
What  a  tale  their  terror  tells 
Of    despair! 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  265 

SEVEXTH    YEAR  JANUARY 

How  they  clang,  and  clash,  and  roar ! 
What  a  horror  the}'  outpour 
On  the  bosom  of  the  palpitating  air ! 
Yet  the  ear,  it  fully  knows, 
B}^  the  twanging 
And  the  clanging. 
How  the  danger  ebbs  and  flows ; 
Yet  the  ear  distinctly  tells. 
In  the  jangling 
And  the  wrangling, 
How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells, 
By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling  in  the  anger  of 
the  bells — 
Of  the  bells— 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells— 
In  the  clamor  and  the  clangor  of  the  bells ! 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells — 
Iron  bells ! 
What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody 
compels ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone ! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats, 

Is  a  groan : 
And  the  people — ah,  the  people — 
They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple, 
All  alone, 


266  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH   YEAR  JANUARY 

And  who  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  muffled  monotone. 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone — 
They  are  neither  man  nor  woman — 
They  are  neither  brute  nor  human — 

They  are   Ghouls ! 
And  their  king  it  is  who  tolls ; 
And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls,  rolls, 

A  psean  from  the  bells ! 
And  his  merry  bosom  swells 

With  the  paean  of  the  bells ! 
And  he  dances  and  he  yells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
To  the  psean  of  the  bells — 

Of  the  bells ; 
Keeping  time,   time,   time. 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 

To  the  throbbing  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells, 

To  the  sobbing  of  the  bells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 

As  he  knells,  knells,  knells, 
In  a  happy  Runic  rhyme. 

To  the  rolling  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells— 

To  the  tolling  of  the  bells. 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells  bells 
Bells,  bells,  bells — 
To  the  moaning  and  the  groaning  of  the  bells. 

— Bdmr  Allen  Poe. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  267 


FEBRUARY 

LINCOLN,  THE  GREAT  COMMONER 

WHEN    the    Norn-mother    saw    the    Whirl- 
wind Hour, 
Greatening  and  darkening  as  it  hurried  on. 
She  bent  the  strenuous  heavens  and  came  down 
To  make  a  man  to  meet  the  mortal  need. 
She  took  the  tried  clay  of  the  common  road, 
Clay,  warm  yet  with  the  genial  heat  of  earth. 
Dashed  through  it  all  a  strain  of  prophecy; 
Then  mixed  a  laughter  with  the  serious  stuff. 
It  was  a  stuff  to  wear  for  centuries; 
A  man  that  watched  the  mountains  and  compelled 
The  stars  to  look  our  way  and  honor  us. 

The  cplor  of  the  ground  was  in  him,  the  red 

Earth, 
The  tang  and  color  of  the  primal  things — 
The  rectitude  and  patience  of  the  rocks; 
The  gladness  of  the  wind  that  shakes  the  corn; 
The  courage  of  the  bird  that  dares  the  sea; 
The  justice  of  the  rain  that  loves  all  leaves; 
The  pity  of  the  snow  that  hides  all  scars ; 
The  loving  kindness  of  the  wayside  well; 
The  tolerance  and  equity  of  light 
That  gives  as  freely  to  the  shrinking  weed 
As  to  the  great  oak  flaring  to  the  wind — 
To  the  grave's  low  as  to  the  Matterhorn 
That  shoulders  out  the  sky. 


268  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SEVENTH    YEAR 


And  SO  he  came 
From  prairie  cabin  up  to  Capitol, 
One  fair  Ideal  led  our  chieftain  on. 
Forevermore  he  burned  to  do  his  deed 
With  the  fine  stroke  and  gesture  of  a  king; 
He  built  the  rail  pile  as  he  built  the  State, 
Pouring   his    splendid    strength    through    every 

blow, 
The  conscience  of  him  testing  every  blow. 
To  make  his  deed  the  measure  of  a  man. 

So  came  the  captain  with  the  mighty  heart; 
And    when   the    step   of   earthquake   shook   the 

house, 
Wrenching  the  rafters  from  their  ancient  hold. 
He  held  the  ridge-pole  up  and  spiked  again 
The  rafters  of  the  Home.     He  held  his  place — 
Held  the  long  purpose  like  a  growing  tree — 
Held  on  through  blame  and  faltered  not  at  praise. 
And  when  he  fell  in  whirlwind,  he  went  down 
As  when  a  kingly  cedar  green  with  boughs 
Goes  down  with  a  great  shout  upon  the  hills. 

— Edwin  Markham. 


CHILD' H  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  26y 


SEVENTH    YEAR 


THE  AIM  OF  LIFE 

WE  live  in  deeds,  not  years ;  in  thoughts,  not 
breaths ; 
In  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
We  should  count  time  by  heart  throbs ;  he  most 

lives 
Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best, 
And   he    whose   heart   beats    quickest,    lives   the 

longest ; 
Lives  in  one  hour  more  than  in  years  do  some 
Whose  fat  blood  sleeps  as  it  slips  along  their 

veins. 
Life  is  but  a  means  unto  an  end  ;  that  end,     • 
Beginning,  mean,  and  end  to  all  things — God. 
The  dead  have  all  the  glory  of  the  world. 

— From  Festiis,  Philip  James  Bailey. 


270  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

MAJRCH 

THE  EVE  OE  WATERLOO 

THERE  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathered  then 
Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave 
men; 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily;  and  when 
Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell, 
Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  spake  again, 

And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell ; 
But   hush !   hark !   a  deep   sound   strikes   like  a 
rising  knell! 

Did  ye  not  hear  it  ? — No ;  'twas  but  the  wind, 

Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street ; 
On  with  the  dance!  let  joy  be  unconfined; 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  youth  and  pleasure 
meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet — 

But  hark ! — that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once 
more, 
As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat; 

And  nearer,  clearer,   deadlier   than   before ! 
Arm  !  Arm  !  it  is — it  is  the  cannon's  opening  roar. 

Ah!  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro. 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  dis- 
tress. 

And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness ; 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  271 

SEVENTH    YEAR  MAItCD 

And  there  were  sudden  partings,  such  as  press 
The  Hfe  from  out  young  hearts,  and  chok- 
ing sighs 
Which  ne'er  might  be  repeated ;  who  could  guess 
If  ever  more  should  meet  those  mutual  eyes 
Since    upon   night   so   sweet   such    awful    morn 
could  rise ! 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste ;  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering 
car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 

And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war; 
And  the  deep  thunder  peal  on  peal  afar. 

And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star; 
While    thronged    the    citizens    with    terror 
dumb, 
Or  whispering  with  white  lips,  "The  foe!  They 
come  !  they  come  !" 

And    Ardennes    waves    above    them    her    green 
leaves. 
Dewy  with  nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass, 
Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves, 

Over  the  unreturning  brave — alas ! 
Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass, 

Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall 
grow 
In  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass 

Of  living  valor,  rolling  on  the  foe, 
And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  molder  cold 
and  low. 


272  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH    TEAR  MARCH 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 

Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay ; 
The  midnight  brought  the  signal-sound  of  strife, 
The  morn,  the  marshaling  in  arms — the  day, 
Battle's  magnificently  stern  array ! 

The    thunder-clouds    close    o'er    it,    which 
when  rent, 
The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  other  clay, 

Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heaped  and 
pent. 
Rider   and   horse — friend   and   foe — in   one   red 
burial  blent. 

— George  Gordon,  Lord  Byron. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  273 


SEVENTH     YEAR 


THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  LIGHT  BRIGADE 

HALF  a  league,  half  a  league, 
1  1    Half  a  league  onward. 
All  in  the  valley  of  death. 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 
"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade! 
Charge  for  the  guns !"  he  said. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

"Forward,  the  Light  Brigade!" 
Was  there  a  man  dismay'd? 
Not  tho'  the  soldiers  knew 

Some  one  had  blunder'd; 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply. 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die. 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  in  front  of  them 

Volley'd  and  thundered ; 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell, 
Boldly  they  rode  and  well, 
Into  the  jaws  of  Death, 
Into  the  mouth  of  hell 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 


274  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SEVENTH    TEAR 


Flash'd  all  their  sabers  bare, 
Flash'd  as  they  turn'd  in  air. 
Sabring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 

All  the  world  wonder'd; 
Plunged  in  the  battery-smoke 
Right  thro'  the  line  they  broke; 
Cossack  and  Russian 
Reel'd  from  the  saber-stroke, 
Shatter'd  and  sunder'd. 
Then   they   rode   back — but   not, 

Not  the  six  hundred. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them. 
Cannon  to  left  of  them, 
Cannon  behind  them 

Volley'd  and  thunder'd; 
Storm'd  at  with  shot  and  shell. 
While  horse  and  hero  fell; 
They  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  thro'  the  jaws  of  Death 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 

Left  of  six  hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade? 
O  the  wild  charge  they  made ! 
All  the  world  wonJer'd. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made! 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade! 
Noble  six  hundred ! 

— Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  275 


AN  APRIL  DAY 

ALL  day  the  low-hung  clouds  have  dropped 
Their  garnered  fullness  down ; 
All  day  that  soft,  gray  mist  hath  wrapped 
Hill,  valley,  grove,  and  town. 

There  has  not  been  a  sound  to-day 
To  break  the  calm  of  Nature ; 

Nor  motion,  I  might  almost  say, 
Of  life,  or  living  creature ; 

Of  waving  bough,  or  warbling  bird, 

Or  cattle  faintly  lowing; 
I  could  have  half-believed  I  heard 

The  leaves  and  blossoms  growing. 

I  stood  to  hear — I  love  it  well — 

The  rain's  continuous  sound ; 
Small  drops,  but  thick  and  fast  they  fell, 

Down  straight  into  the  ground. 

For  leafy  thickness  is  not  yet 

Earth's  naked  breast  to  screen; 

Though  every  dripping  branch  is  set 
With  shoots  of  tender  green. 

Sure,  since  I  looked  at  early  morn, 

Those  honeysuckle  buds 
Have   swelled  to  double   growth;  that  thorn 

Hath  put  forth  larger  studs. 


276  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH    YEAR  APRIL 

That  lilac's  cleaving  cones  have  burst. 
The  milk-white  flowers  revealing; 

Even  now,  upon  my  senses  first 

Methinks  their  sweets  are  stealing. 

The  very  earth,  the  steamy  air, 

Is  all  with  fragrance  rife ; 
And  gr?xe  and  beauty  everywhere 

Arc  flushing  into  life. 

Down,   down   they   come — those   fruitful    stores, 

Those  earth-rejoicing  drops ! 
A  momentary  deluge  pours, 

Then  thins^  decreases,  stops. 

And  ere  the  dimples  on  the  stream 

Have  circled  out  of  sight, 
Lo !  from  the  west  a  parting  gleam 

Breaks  forth,  of  amber  light. 

But  yet  behold — abrupt  and  loud. 
Comes  down  the  glittering  rain; 

The  farewell  of  a  passing  cloud, 
The  fringes  of  her  train. 

— Caroline  Anne  Boivles  Sonthey. 


CHILD'S  CALE'SDAR  BEAUTIFUL  277 

SEVENTH    YEAR  AFRIL 

KING     HENRY'S     ADDRESS      TO      HIS 
SOLDIERS 

ONCE  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends, 
once  more ; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead  1 
In  peace  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man 
As  modest  stillness  and  humility; 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears. 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger; 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood. 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favor'd  rage; 
Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect; 
Let  it  ply  through  the  portage  of  the  head 
Like  the  brass  cannon ;  let  the  brow  o'erwhelm  it 
As  fearfully  as  doth  a  galled  rock 
O'erhang  and  jutty  his  confounded  base, 
Swill'd  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean, 
Now  set  the  teeth  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide, 
Hold  hard  the  breath  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  his  full  height.  On,  on  you  noble  English, 
Whose  blood  is  fetched  from  fathers  of  war  proof  ! 
Fathers,  that  like  so  many  Alexanders, 
Have  in  these  parts  from  morn  till  even  fought, 
And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument. 
Dishonor  not  your  mothers ;  now  attest 
That  those  whom  you  called  fathers  did  beget 

you. 
Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  blood, 
And  teach  them  how   to   war.  And  you,  good 
veomen. 


278  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH     YEAR  APRIL 

Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us 

here 
The  mettle  of  your  pasture ;  let  us  swear 
That  you  were  worth  your  breeding;  which  I 

doubt  not; 
For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base, 
That  hath  not  noble  luster  in  your  eyes. 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips, 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game's  afoot; 
Follow  your  spirit,  and  upon  this  charge 
Cry,    "God    for    Harry,    England,    and    Saint 

George." 

— Prom  Henry  V. — Shakespeare. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  279 


THE  STAR  SPANGLED  BANNER 

Osay  can  you  see,  by  the  dawn's  early  light, 
What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twilight's 

last  gleaming? 
Whose  stripes  and  bright  stars  thro'  the  perilous 

fight 
O'er  the  ramparts  we  watched  were  so  gallantly 

streaming  ? 
And  the  rocket's  red  glare,  the  bombs  bursting 

in  air 
Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  flag  was 

still  there. 
O  say,  does  the  star  spangled  banner  yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 

brave  ? 

On  the  shore  dimly  seen,  through  the  mists  of 

the  deep, 
Where  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread  silence 

reposes. 
What  is  that  which  the  breeze  o'er  the  towering 

steep, 
As  it  fitfully  blows,  half  conceals,  half  discloses? 
Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's  first 

beam. 
In  full  glory  reflected,  now  shines  in  the  stream. 
'Tis  the  star  spangled  banner,  oh  long  may  it 

wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 

brave. 


280  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH     YEAR  MAY 

And  where  is  that  band  who  so  vauntingly  swore 
That  the  havoc  of  war  and  the  battle's  confusion, 
A  home  and  a  country  should  leave  us  no  more? 
Their  blood  has  washed  out  their  foul  footsteps' 

pollution 
No  refuge  could  save  the  hireling  and  slave 
From  the  terror  of  flight  or  the  gloom  of  the 

grave. 
And  the  star  spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall 

wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 

brave. 

Oh  thus  be  it  ever  when  freemen  shall  stand 
Between  their  loved  home  and  wild  war's  deso- 
lation ; 
Blessed  with  vict'ry  and  peace  may  the  heaven 

rescued  land 
Praise  the  power  that  hath  made  and  preserved 

us  a  nation ! 
Then  conquer  we  must  when  our  cause  it  is  just, 
And  this  be  our  motto,  "In  God  is  our  trust !" 
And  the  star  spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall 

wave 
While  the  land  of  the  free  is  the  home  of  the 
brave. 

— Francis  Scott  Key. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  281 


SEVENTH    YEAR 


THE  BLUE  AND  THE  GRAY 

BY  the  flow  of  the  inland  river, 
Whence  the  fleets  of  iron  have  fled, 
Where  the  blades  of  the  grave-grass  quiver, 
Asleep  are  the  ranks  of  the  dead : — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 
Under  the  one,  the  Blue, 

Under  the  other  the  Gray. 

These  in  the  robings  of  glory 

Those  in  the  gloom  of  defeat. 
All  with  the  battle-blood  gory. 

In  the  dusk  of  eternity  meet : — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 
Under  the  laurel,  the  Blue, 

Under  the  willow,  the  Gray^ 

From  the  silence  of  sorrowful  hours 

The  desolate  mourners  go, 
Lovingly  laden  with  flowers, 

Alike  for  the  friend  and  the  foe : 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 
Under  the  roses,  the  Blue, 

Under  the  lilies,  the  Gray. 

So,  with  an  equal  splendor. 

The  morning  sun-rays  fall, 
With  a  touch  impartially  tender, 

On  the  blossoms  blooming  for  all : — 


282  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SEVENTH    TEAR 


Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 

Broidered  with  gold,  the  Blue, 

Mellowed  with  gold,  the  Gray. 

So,  when  the  summer  calleth 

On  forest  and  field  of  grain. 
With  an  equal  murmur  falleth 

The  cooling  drip  of  the  rain : — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Blue, 

Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Gray. 

Sadly,  but  not  with  upbraiding, 

The  generous  deed  was  done; 
In  the  storm  of  the  years  that  are  fading 
No  braver  battle  was  won: — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 
Under  the  blossoms,  the  Blue, 

Under  the  garlands,  the  Gray. 

No  more  shall  the  war-cry  sever, 

Or  the  winding  rivers  be  red ; 
They  banish  our  anger  forever. 

When  they  laurel  the  graves  of  our  dead, — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 
Love  and  tears  for  the  Blue, 

Tears  and  love  for  the  Gray. 

— Francis  M.  Finch. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  283 


THOUGHTS     FER     THE     DISCURAGED 
FARMER 

THE   summer   winds   is   sniffin'   round  the 
bloomin'  locus'  trees ; 
And  the  clover  in  the  pastur'  is  a  big  day  fer 

the  bees, 
And  they  been  a-swiggin'  honey,   above  board 

and  on  the  sly, 
Till  they  stutter  in  their  buzzin'  and  stagger  as 

they  fly. 
The  flicker  on  the  fence-rail  'pears  to  jest  spit 

on  his  wings 
And  roll  up  his  feathers,  by  the  sassy  way  he 

sings ; 
And  the  hoss-fly  is  a  whettin'-up  his  forelegs 

fer  biz. 
And  the  off-mare  is  a  switchin'  all  of  her  tail 

they  is ! 

You  can  hear  the  blackbirds  jawin'  as  they  f oiler 

up  the  plow — 
Oh,   they're  bound   to   git   their   breakfast  and 

they're   not  a-carin'   how; 
So  they  quarrel  in  the  furries,  and  they  quarrel 

on  the  wing — 
But  they're  peaceabler  in  pot-pies  than  any  other 

thing ; 
And  it's  when  I  git  my  shotgun  drawed  up  in 

stiddy  rest, 
She's  as  full  of  tribbelation  as  a  yaller-jackets' 

nest; 


284  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH     YEAK  JD.NB 

And  a  few  shots  before  dinner,  when  the  sun's 
a-shinin'  right, 

Seems  to  kindo-sorto  sharpen  up  a  feller's  appe- 
tite! 

They's  been  a  heap  o'  rain,  but  the  sun's  out 

today, 
And  the  clouds  of  the  wet  spell  is  all  cleared 

away. 
And  the  woods  is  all  the  greener,  and  the  grass 

is  greener  still ; 
It  may  rain  again  to-morry,  but  I  don't  think  it 

will. 
Some  says  the  crops  is  ruined,  and  the  corn's 

drownded  out. 
And  propha-sy  the  wheat  will  be  a  failure,  with- 
out doubt; 
But  the  kind  Providence  that  has  never  failed 

as  yet. 
Will  be  on  hands  onc't  more  at  the  'leventh  hour, 

I  bet. 

Does  the  medder-lark  complain,  as  he  swims  high 

and  dry 
Through  the  waves  of  the  wind  and  the  blue 

of  the  sky? 
Does  the  quail  set  up  and  whistle  in  a  disap- 

pinted  way, 
Er  hang  his  head  in  silence,  and  sorrow  all  the 

day? 
Is   the   chipmunk's   health    a   failin'?     Does   he 

walk,  er  does  he  run? 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  285 

SE\T:XTn     TEAB  ""^^ 

Don't  the  buzzards   ooze  around  up  thare   jist 

like  they've  alius  done? 
Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  the  rooster's 

lungs  er  voice? 
Ort  a  mortal  be  complainin'  when  dumb  animals 

rejoice? 

Then  let  us,  one  and  all,  be  contented  with  our 

lot: 

The  June  is  here  this  morning,  and  the  sun  is 

shinin'   hot. 
Oh !  let  us  fill  our  hearts  up  with  the  glory  of  the 

day. 
And  banish   ev'ry   doubt   and  care  and  sorrow 

far  away! 
Whatever  be  our   station,   with   Providence   fer 

guide, 
Such  fine  circumstances  ort  to  make  us  satisfied ; 
Fer  the  world  is  full  of  roses,  and  the  roses  full 

of  dew, 
And  the  dew  is  full  of  heavenly  love  that  drips 

fer  me  and  you. 

— James  Whitcomb  Riley. 


286  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

JUJL,Y 

THE  HUMBLE-BEE 

BURLY,  dozing  humble-bee, 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me. 
Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 
Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek; 
I  will  follow  thee  alone, 
Thou  animated  torrid-zone ! 
Zigzag  steerer,  desert  cheerer. 
Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines ; 
Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 
Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines. 
Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 
Joy  of  thy  dominion ! 
Sailor  of  the  atmosphere ; 
Swimmer  through  the  waves  of  air; 
Voyager  of  light  and  noon; 
Epicurean  of  June ; 
Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come 
Within  earshot  of  thy  hum — 
All  without  is  martyrdom. 
When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days, 
With  a  net  of  shining  haze 
Silvers  the  horizon  wall. 
And,  with  softness  touching  all. 
Tints  the  human  countenance 
With  a  color  of  romance, 
And  infusing  subtle  heats. 
Turns  the  sod  to  violets. 
Thou,  in  sunny  solitudes. 
Rover  of  the  underwoods, 
The  green  silence  dost  displace 
With  thy  mellow,  breezy  bass. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  287 

SEVENTH    YEAR  ^^'^ 

Hot  midsummer's  petted  crone, 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 
Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 
Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers; 
Of  gulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound 
In  Indian  wildernesses  found ; 
Of  Syrian  peace,  immortal  leisure, 
Firmest  cheer,  and  bird-like  pleasure. 
Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 
Hath  my  insect  never  seen ; 
But  violets  and  bilberry  bells. 
Maple  sap  and  daffodels, 
Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  high. 
Succory  to  match  the  sky, 
Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 
Scented  fern  and  agrimony. 
Clover,  catchfly,  adder's-tongue, 
And  brier-roses,  dwelt  among; 
All  beside  was  unknown  waste. 
All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 
Wiser  far  than  human  seer, 
Yellow-breeched   philosopher ! 
Seeing  only  what  is  fair. 
Sipping  only  what  is  sweet. 
Thou  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care. 
Leave  the  chaff,  and  take  the  wheat. 
When  the  fierce  northwestern  blast 
Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast. 
Thou  already  slumberest  deep ; 
Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep; 
Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us, 
Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous. 

— Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


288  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 


SEVENTH    TEAR 


THE  SKYLARK 

BIRD  of  the  wilderness, 
Blythesome  and  cumberless, 
Sweet  be  thy  matin  o'er  moorland  and  lea ! 

Emblem  of  happiness 

Eless'd  be  thy  dwelling-place— 
O  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee ! 

Wild  is  thy  lay  and  loud, 

Far  in  the  downy  cloud, 
Love  gives  it  energy,  love  gave  it  birth. 

Where  on  thy  dewy  wing, 

Where   art  thou   journeying? 
Thy  lay  is  in  heaven,  thy  love  is  on  earth. 

O'er  fell  and  mountain  sheen, 

O'er  moor  and  mountain  green. 
O'er  the  red  streamer  that  heralds  the  day, 

Over  the   cloudlet   dim. 

Over  the  rainbow's  rim. 
Musical  cherub,  soar,  singing,  away ! 

Then  when  the  gloaming  comes. 

Low  in  the  heather  blooms. 
Sweet  will  thy  welcome  and  bed  of  love  be, 

Emblem  of  happiness, 

Blest  is  thy  dwelling-place — 
O  to  abide  in  the  desert  with  thee ! 

— James  Hogg. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  289 

AUGUST 

THE  CLOUD 

i  bring  fresh  showers  for  the  thirsting  flowers, 
From  the  seas  and  the  streams ; 
I  bear  hght  shade  for  the  leaves  when  laid 

In   their   noonday   dreams. 
From  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews  that  waken 

The  sweet  buds  every  one, 
When  rocked  to  rest  on  their  mother's  breast, 

As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 
I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail, 

And  whiten  the  green  plains  under, 
And  then  again  I  dissolve  in  rain. 

And  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder, 
I  sift  the  snow  on  the  mountains  below, 

And  their  great  pines  groan  aghast ; 
And  all  the  night  'tis  my  pillow  white. 

While  I  sleep  in  the  arms  of  the  blast. 
Sublime  on  the  towers  of  my  skyey  bowers 

Lightning  my  pilot  sits. 
In  a  cavern  under  is  fettered  the  thunder, 

It  struggles  and  howls  at  fits ; 
Over  earth  and  ocean,  with  gentle  motion. 

The  pilot  is  guiding  me. 
Lured  by  the  love  of  the  genii  that  move 

In  the  depths  of  the  purple  sea; 
Over  the  rills,  and  the  crags,  and  the  hills. 

Over  the  lakes  and  the  plains, 
"Wherever  he  dream,  under  mountain  or  stream, 

The  Spirit  he  loves  remains. 
And  I  all  the  while  bask  in  heaven's  blue  smile. 

Whilst  he  is  dissolving  in  rains. 

— Percy  Byssche  Shelley. 


lO 


290  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL 

SEVENTH   TEAR  AUGUST 

THE  FINDING  OF  THE  LYRE 

THERE  lay  upon  the  ocean's  shore 
What  once  a  tortoise  served  to  cover; 
A  year  and  more,  with  rush  and  roar, 

The  surf  had  rolled  it  over, 
Had  played  with  it,  and  flung  it  by. 

As  wind  and  weather  might  decide  it. 
Then  tossed  it  high  where  sand-drifts  dry 
Cheap  burial  might  provide  it. 

It  rested  there  to  bleach  or  tan, 

The  rains  had  soaked  the  suns  had  burned  it ; 
With  many  a  ban  the  fisherman 

Had  stumbled  o'er  and  spurned  it; 
And  there  the  fisher-girl  would  stay. 

Conjecturing  with  her  brother 
How  in  their  play  the  poor  estray 

Might  serve  some  use  or  other. 

So  there  it  lay,  through  wet  and  dry. 

As  empty  as  the  last  new  sonnet, 
Till  by  and  by  came  Mercury, 

And,  having  mused  upon  it, 
"Why,  here,"  cried  he,  "the  thing  of  things 

In  shape,  material,  and  dimensions! 
Give  it  but  strings,  and,  lo,  it  sings, 

A  wonderful  invention !" 

So  said,  so  done ;  the  chords  he  strained, 

And,  as  his  fingers  o'er  them  hovered, 
The  shell  disdained  a  soul  had  gained. 

The  lyre  had  been  discovered. 
O,  empty  world  that  round  us  lies. 

Dead  shell,  of  soul  and  thought  forsaken, 
Brought  we  but  eyes  like  Mercury's 

In  thee  what  songs  should  waken! 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 


EIGHTn  YEAR 

*  *  /V\  AY  every  soul  that  touches  thine, 

/     V  Be  it  the  sHghtest  contact,  get  therefrom 
some  good, 
Some  little  grace,  one  kindly  thought. 
One  aspiration  yet  unfelt ;  one  bit  of  courage 
For  the  darkening  sky,  one  gleam  of  faith 
To  brave  the  thickening  ills  of  life. 
One  glimpse  of  brighter  sky  beyond  the  gather- 
ing mists, 
To  make  this  life  worth  while. 
And  heaven  a  surer  heritage." 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  293 


SEPTEMBER 


THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS 

THIS  is  the  ship  of  pearl,\vhich,  poets  feign, 
Sails  the  unshadowed  main, — 
The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  siren  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
Where    the    cold    sea-maids    rise    to    sun    their 
streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl! 

And  every  chambered  cell 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  v;ont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  its  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed, — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed! 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  his  lustrous  coil; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 
Stretched  in  its  last  found  home,  and  knew  the 

old  no  more. 


294  CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAVTIFVL 

EIGHTH    YEAR  SEPTEUBEB 

Thanks    for   the   heavenly   message   brought  by 
thee, 
Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 
Cast  from  her  lap  forlorn ! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn! 

While  on  my  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice 
that  sings: — 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last. 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting 
sea. 

—Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  295 


EIGHTH    TEAB 


HYMN  TO  DIANA 

QUEEN  and  Huntress,  chaste  and  fair, 
Now  the  sun  is  laid  to  sleep, 
Seated  in  thy  silver  chair 

State  in  wonted  manner  keep: 
Hesperus  entreats  thy  light, 
Goddess  excellently  bright. 

Earth,  let  not  thy  envious  shade 

Dare  itself  to  interpose; 
Cynthia's  shining  orb  was  made 

Heaven  to  clear  when  day  did  close: 
Bless  us  then  with  wished  sight, 
Goddess  excellently  bright. 

Lay  thy  bow  of  pearl  apart 

And  thy  crystal-shining  quiver ; 
Give  unto  the  flying  hart 

Space  to  breathe,  how  short  soever; 
Thou  that  mak'st  a  day  of  night, 
Goddess  excellently  bright! 

— Ben  Jonson. 


296  CHILD'S  GALEN  DAB  BEAUTIFUL 

OCTOBER 

TO  THE  FRINGED  GENTIAN 

THOU  blossom   bright  with  autumn  dew, 
And  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue, 
That  openest  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty   night. 

Thou  com.est  not  when  violets  lean 

O'er  wandering  brooks  and  springs  unseen. 

Or  columbines  in  purple  dressed, 

Nod  o'er  the  ground-lDird's  hidden  nest. 

Thou  waitest  late  and  com'st  alone, 
When  woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  flown, 
And  frosts  and  shortening  days  portend 
The  aged  year  is  at  its  end. 

Then  doth  thy  sweet  and  quiet  eye 
Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky, 
Blue — blue — as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  flower  from  its  cerulean  wall. 

I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  hour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
May  look  to  heaven  as  I  depart. 

— William  Cullen  Bryant 


CHILD'S  CALENDAR  BEAUTIFUL  297 


EIGHTH    TEAR 


THE  LAST  LEAF 

Isaw  him  once  before, 
As  he  passed  by  the  door, 
And    again 
The  pavement  stones  resound, 
As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground 
With  his  cane. 

They  say  that  in  his  prime, 
Ere  the  pruning-knife  of  Time 

Cut  him  down, 
Not  a  better  man  was  found 
By  the  Crier  on  his  round 

Through  the  town. 

But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 

Sad  and  wan, 
And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 

"They  are  gone." 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  pressed 

In  their  bloom. 
And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb. 


298  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 


EIGHTH   TEAR 


My  grandmamma  has  said — 
Poor  old  lady, — she  is  dead 

Long  ago — 
That  he  had  a  Roman  nose, 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow ; 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like  a  staff. 
And  a  crook  is  in  his  back. 
And  a  melancholy  crack 

In  his  laugh. 

I  know  it  is  a  sin 

For  me  to  sit  and  grin 

At  him  here; 
But  the  old  three-cornered  hat. 
And  the  breeches,  and  all  that, 

Are  so  queer! 

And  if  I  should  live  to  be 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  spring, 
Let  them  smile,  as  I  do  now, 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

Where   I   cling. 

— Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  299 


NOVEMBER 

PSALM  CXLVIII 

1.  Praise  ye  the  Lord.  Praise  ye  the  Lord 
from  the  heavens ;  praise  Him  in  the  heights. 

2.  Praise  ye  him,  all  his  angels:  praise  ye 
him,  all  his  hosts. 

3.  Praise  ye  him,  sun  and  moon:  praise 
ye  nim,  all  ye  stars  of  light. 

4.  Praise  him,  ye  heavens  of  heavens,  and 
ye  waters  that  be  above  the  heavens. 

5.  Let  them  praise  the  name  of  the  Lord: 
for  he  commanded,  and  they  were  created. 

6.  He  hath  also  established  them  forever  and 
ever:  he  hath  made  a  decree  which  shall  not  pass. 

7.  Praise  the  Lord  from  the  earth,  ye 
dragons,  and  all  deeps. 

8.  Fire,  and  hail ;  snow,  and  vapors ;  stormy 
wind  fulfilling  his  word. 

9.  Mountains,  and  all  hills;  fruitful  trees 
and  all  cedars; 

10.  Beasts,  and  all  cattle;  creeping  things 
and  flying  fowl: 

11.  Kings  of  the  earth,  and  all  people; 
princes,  and  all  judges  of  the  earth: 

12.  Both  young  men  and  maidens ;  old  men, 
and  children: 

13.  Let  them  praise  the  name  of  the  Lord: 
for  his  name  alone  is  excellent ;  his  glory  is  above 
the  earth  and  heaven. 

14.  He  also  exalteth  the  horn  of  his  people, 
the  praise  of  all  his  saints;  even  of  the  children 
of  Israel,  a  people  near  unto  him.  Praise  ye  the 
Lord. 


300  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 

DECEMBER 

"GOD  BLESS  US  EVERY  ONE" 

**(^  OD  bless  us  every  one!"  prayed  Tiny  Tim, 
VU  Crippled,    and    dwarfed  of  body,  yet  so  tall 
Of  soul,  we  tiptoe  earth  to  look  on  him, 
High  towering  over  all. 

He  loved  the  loveless  world,  nor  dreamed,  indeed. 
That  it,  at  best,  could  give  to  him,  the  while. 

But  pitying  glances,  when  his  only  need 
Was  but  a  cheery  smile. 

And  thus  he  prayed,  "God  bless  us  every  one!" 
Enfolding  all  the  creeds  within  the  span 

Of  his  child-heart;  and  so,  despising  none. 
Was  nearer  saint  than  man. 

I  like  to  fancy  God,  in  Paradise 

Lifting  a  finger  o'er  the  rhythmic  swing 
Of  chiming  harp  and  song,  with  eager  eyes 

Turned  earthward,  listening — 

The  Anthem  stilled — the  angels  leaning  there 
Above  the  golden  walls — the  morning  sun 

Of  Christmas  bursting  flower-like  with  the  prayer 
"God  bless  us  Every  One !" 

— James  Whitcomb  Riley. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  301 


UGHTH    YEAR 


WINTER. 

DOWN    swept    the    chill    wind    from    the 
mountain  peak, 

From  the  snow  five  thousand  summers  old; 
On  open  wold  and  hill-top  bleak 

It  had  gathered  all  the  cold, 
And  whirled  it  like  sleet  on  the  wanderer's  cheek ; 
It  carried  a  shiver  every^vhere 
From  the  unleafed  boughs  and  pastures  bare; 
The  little  brook  heard  it  and  built  a  roof 
'Neath  which  he  could  house  him  winter-proof; 
All  night  by  the  white  stars'  frosty  gleams 
He  groined  his  arches  and  matched  his  beams; 
Slender  and  clear  were  his  crystal  spars 
As  the  lashes  of  light  that  trim  the  stars ; 
He  sculptured  every  summer  delight 
In  his  halls  and  chambers  out  of  sight; 
Sometimes  his  tinkling  waters  slipped 
Down  through  a  frost-leaved  forest  crypt, 
Long,  sparkling  aisles  of  steel-stemmed  trees 
Bending  to  counterfeit  a  breeze; 
Sometimes  the  roof  no  fretwork  knew 
But  silvery  mosses  that  downward  grew; 
Sometimes  it  was  carved  in  sharp  relief 
\^^ith  quaint  arabesques  of  ice-fern  leaf; 
Sometimes  it  was  simply  smooth  and  clear 
For  the  gladneso  of  heaven  to  shine  through,  and 

here 
He  had  caught  the  nodding  bulrush-tops 
And  hung  them  thickly  with  diamond  drops. 


302  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 

EIGHTH    TEAB  DECEUBEB 

That  crystalled  the  beams  of  moon  and  sun, 
And  made  a  star  of  every  one : 
No  mortal  builder's  most  rare  device 
Could  match  that  v^inter-palace  of  ice ; 
'Twas  as  if  every  image  that  mirrored  lay 
In  his  depths  serene  through  the  summer  day, 
Each  fleeting  shadow  of  earth  and  sky. 

Lest  the  happy  model  should  be  lost. 
Had  been  mimicked  in  fairy  masonry 

By  the  elfin  builders  of  the  frost. 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 

From  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  303 

JANUARY 

LEAD  KINDLY  LIGHT 

LEAD,   kindly   light,   amid   the    encircling 
gloom, 
Lead  Thou  me  on ; 
The  night  is  dark  and  I  am  far  from  home, 

Lead  Thou  me  on; 
Keep  thou  my  feet;  I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene;  one  step's  enough  for  me. 

I  was  not  ever  thus,  nor  prayed  that  Thou 

Shouldst  lead  me  on ; 
I  loved  to  choose  and  see  my  path,  but  now 

Lead  Thou  me  on; 
I  loved  the  garish  day,  and,  spite  of  fears, 
Pride  ruled  my  will.    Remember  not  past  years. 

So  long  Thy  power  has  blessed  me,  sure  it  still 

Will  lead  me  on 
O'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  torrent,  till 

The  night  is  gone; 
And  with  the  morn  those  angel  faces  smile, 
Which  I  have  loved  long  since,  and  lost  awhile! 

Meanwhile,  along  the  narrow  rugged  path 

Thyself  have  trod, 
Lead,  Savior,  lead  me  home  in  childish  faith, 

Home  to  my  God. 
To  rest  forever  after  earthly  strife 
In  the  calm  light  of  everlasting  life. 

— Cardinal  Newman. 


304         .  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 

EIGHTH    TBAE  JANTJARY 

REMEMBER ! 
Ecclesiastes  XII,  1-7. 

1.  Remember  now  thy  Creator  in  the  days 
of  thy  youth,  while  the  evil  days  come  not,  nor 
the  years  draw  nigh,  when  thou  shalt  say,  I  have 
no  pleasure  in  them ; 

2.  While  the  sun,  or  the  light,  or  the  moon, 
or  the  stars,  be  not  darkened,  nor  the  clouds  re- 
turn after  the  rain: 

3.  In  the  day  when  the  keepers  of  the 
house  shall  tremble,  and  the  strong  men  shall 
bow  themselves,  and  the  grinders  cease  because 
they  are  few,  and  those  that  look  out  of  the 
windows  be  darkened, 

4.  And  the  doors  shall  be  shut  in  the 
streets,  when  the  sound  of  the  grinding  is  low, 
and  he  shall  rise  up  at  the  voice  of  the  bird,  and 
all  the  daughters  of  music  shall  be  brought  low ; 

5.  Also  when  they  shall  be  afraid  of  that 
which  is  high,  and  fears  shall  be  in  the  way,  and 
the  almond  tree  shall  flourish,  and  the  grasshop- 
per shall  be  a  burden,  and  desire  shall  fail:  be- 
cause man  goeth  to  his  long  home,  and  the 
mourners  go  about  the  streets : 

6.  Or  ever  the  silver  cord  be  loosed,  or  the 
golden  bowl  be  broken,  or  the  pitcher  be  broken 
at  the  fountain,  or  the  wheel  broken  at  the 
cistern. 

7.  Then  shall  the  dust  return  to  the  earth 
as  it  was:  and  the  spirit  shall  return  unto  God 
who  gave  it. 

— The  Bible. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  305 


FEBRUARY 

THE  SHIP  OF  STATE 

nr  HOU,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State ! 
1    Sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great! 
Humanity  with  all  its  fears. 
With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 
Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate ! 
We  know  what  IMaster  laid  thy  keel, 
What  Workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel, 
Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 
What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 
In  what  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 
Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope ! 
Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 
'Tis  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock; 
'"Tis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail. 
And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale ! 
In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest's  roar, 
In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 
Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea ! 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee. 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears. 
Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 
Are  all  with  thee,  are  all  with  thee! 

— H.  W.  Longfellow. 


306  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 


EIGHTH    TEAR 


O  CAPTAIN  !  MY  CAPTAIN ! 

O  Captain!  My  Captain!  our  fearful  trip  is 
done, 
The  ship  has  weathered  every  rack,  the  prize 

we  sought  is  won, 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all 

exulting. 
While   follow   eyes   the   steady  keel,   the  vessel 
grim  and  daring; 
But  O  heart!  heart!  heart! 

O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red. 
Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 
O  Captain!  My  Captain!  rise  up  and  hear  the 

bells ; 
Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung — for  you  the 

bugle  trills. 
For   you   bouquets    and    ribboned   wreaths — for 

you  the  shores  a-crowding. 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager 
faces  turning; 
Here  Captain!  dear  father! 

This   arm  beneath  your  head! 
It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck. 
You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 
My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale 

and  still. 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse 
nor  will, 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  307 

EIGHTH    TEAE  FEBRUART 

The  ship  is  anchored  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage 

dosed  and  done. 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship  comes  in  with 
object  won ; 
Exult,  O  shores ;  and  ring,  O  bells ! 

But  I  with  mournful  tread. 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

— Walt  Whitman. 


308  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 


MARCH 

THE   LADDER   OF    SAINT    AUGUSTINE 

SAINT  Augustine!  well  hast  thou  said, 
That  of  our  vices  we  can  frame 
A  ladder,  if  we  will  but  tread 

Beneath  our  feet  each  deed  of  shame! 

All  common  things,  each  day's  events. 
That  with  the  hour  begin  and  end. 

Our  pleasures  and  our  discontents, 

Are  rounds  by  which  we  may  ascend. 

The  low  desire,  the  base  design, 

That  makes  another's  virtues  less ; 

The  revel  of  the  ruddy  wine. 
And  all  occasions  of  excess ; 

The  longing  for  ignoble  things; 

The  strife  for  triumph  more  than  truth ; 
The  hardening  of  the  heart,  that  brings 

Irreverence  for  the  dreams  of  youth; 

All  thoughts  of  ill ;  all  evil  deeds, 

That  have  their  root  in  thoughts  of  ill ; 

Whatever  hinders  or  impedes 

The  action  of  the  nobler  will; — 

All  these  must  first  be  trampled  down 
Beneath  our  feet,  if  we  would  gain 

In  the  bright  fields  of  fair  renown 
The  right  of  eminent  domain. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  309 


EIQHTH    TEAS 


We  have  not  wings,  we  cannot  soar; 

But  we  have  feet  to  scale  and  climb 
By  slow  degrees,  by  more  and  more. 

The  cloudy  summits  of  our  time. 

The  mighty  pyramids  of  stone 

That  wedge-like  cleave  the  desert  airs. 
When  nearer  seen  and  better  known, 

Are  but  gigantic  flights  of  stairs. 

The  distant  mountains  that  uprear 
Their  solid  bastions  to  the  skies. 

Are  crossed  by  pathways,  that  appear, 
As  we  to  higher  levels  rise. 

The  heights  by  great  men  reached  and  kept 
Were  not  attained  by  sudden  flight. 

But  they,  while  their  companions  slept. 
Were  toiling  upward  in  the  night. 

Standing  on  what  too  long  we  bore 

With  shoulders  bent  and  downcast  eyes, 

We  may  discern — unseen  before — 
A  path  to  higher  destinies, 

Nor  deem  the  irrevocable  Past 

As  wholly  wasted,  wholly  vain. 
If  rising  on  its  wrecks,  at  last. 

To  something  nobler  we  attain, 

— H.  W.  Longfellozu. 


310  CHILD' 8    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


EIGHTH    YEAR 


THANATOPSIS 

Ohim  who  in  the  love  of  nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she 
speaks 
A  various  language ;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty ;  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware.  When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud  and  pall, 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house. 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart — 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  natures  teachings,  while  from  all  around — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air — 
Comes  a  still  voice :  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground. 
Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid  with  many  tears. 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean  shall  exist 
Thy  image.  Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again ; 
And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  forever  with  the  elements — 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock. 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.  The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  311 

EIGHTH    TEAR  lURCH 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.    Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world — with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth — the  wise,  the  good — 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.    The  hills 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun, — the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between — 
The  venerable  woods, — rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 
That   make   the   meadows    green ;    and,    poured 

round  all^ 
Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.    The  golden  sun. 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 
Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.    All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom — Take  the  wings 
Of  morning;  traverse  Barca's  desert  sands. 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings — yet — the  dead  are  there  ; 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep — the  dead  reign  there  alone. 


312  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 

EIGHT   YEAR  MARCH 

So  shalt  thou  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  Hving',  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure?     All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their   mirth   and   their   employments,   and   shall 

come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.    As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men. 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years — matron  and  maid. 
And  the  sweet  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man, — 
Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side 
By  those,  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  which  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 
Thou  go  not  like  the  quarry  slave  at  night, 
Scourged   to   his    dungeon ;    but,    sustained    and 

soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

— William  Cidlen  Bryant. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  313 


A.PR1X, 


CONCORD  HYMN* 

BY  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 
Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 

And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream. 

We  set  today  a  votive  stone ; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem. 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 

To  die,  and  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 

The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 

— Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


*5iTng  at  the  completion  of  the  battle  monument,   April  19,  1836. 


314  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 


EIGHTH     YEAR 


OLD  IRONSIDES 

AY,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down! 
Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar; — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more! 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 
When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood, 

And  waves  were  white  below. 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee ; — 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea ! 

O  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave; 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag. 

Set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms. 

The  lightning  and  the  gale! 

— Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 


CHILD'S    CAijENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  315 


MAY 


ADDRESS   DELIVERED   AT   THE   DEDI- 
CATION    OF     THE     NATIONAL 
CEMETERY  AT  GETTYSBURG 

rOURSCORE  and  seven  years  ago,  our  fath- 
ers brought  forth  upon  this  continent  a 
new  nation,  conceived  in  Hberty,  and  dedicated 
to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal. 
Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war, 
testing  whether  that  nation,  or  any  nation  so  con- 
ceived and  so  dedicated,  can  long  endure. 
We  are  met  on  a  great  battlefield  of  that  war. 
We  have  come  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  that 
field,  as  a  final  resting  place  for  those  who  here 
gave  their  lives  that  the  nation  might  live. 
It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper  that  we  should 
do  this. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense,  we  cannot  dedi- 
cate— we  cannot  consecrate — we  cannot  hallow 
this  ground.  The  brave  men,  living  and  dead, 
v,'ho  struggled  here  have  consecrated  it,  far  above 
our  poor  power  to  add  or  detract.  The  world 
will  little  note,  nor  long  remember  what  we  say 
here,  but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here. 
It  is  for  us  the  living,  rather,  to  be  dedicated 
here  to  the  unfinished  work  which  they  who 
fought  here  have  thus  far  so  nobly  advanced.  It 
is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the  great 
task  remaining  before  us — that  from  these  hon- 
ored dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that 
cause  for  which  they  gave  the  last  full  measure 
of  devotion — that  we   here  highly   resolve  that 


316  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 

EIGHTH     TBAE  MAY 

these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain — that  this 
nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a  new  birth  of 
freedom — and  that  government  of  the  people,  by 
the  people,  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from 
the  earth. 

— Abraham  Lincoln. 
November  19,  1863. 


WE  know  that  self-government  is  difficult.  We 
know  that  no  people  needs  such  high  traits 
of  character  as  that  people  which  seeks  to  gov- 
ern its  affairs  aright  through  the  freely  expressed 
will  of  the  freemen  who  compose  it.  But  we  have 
faith  that  we  shall  not  prove  false  to  the  memo- 
ries of  the  men  of  the  mighty  past.  They  did 
their  work,  they  left  us  the  splendid  heritage  we 
now  enjoy.  We  in  our  turn  have  an  assured 
confidence  that  we  shall  be  able  to  leave  this 
heritage  unwasted,  and  enlarged,  to  our  children 
and  our  children's  children.  To  do  so,  we  must 
show  not  merely  in  great  crises  but  in  the  every- 
day affairs  of  life,  the  qualities  of  practical  intelli- 
gence, of  courage,  of  hardihood  and  endurance, 
and  above  all,  the  power  of  devotion  to  a  lofty 
ideal,  which  made  great  the  men  who  founded 
this  republic  in  the  days  of  Washington,  which 
made  great  the  men  who  preserved  this  republic 
in  the  days  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

— Theodore  Roosevelt, 
Inaugural  Address,  March  4,  1905. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  317 


JUXE 

A  JUNE  DAY 

AND  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June? 
Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days ; 
Then  Heaven  tries  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays: 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten ; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light. 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers ; 
The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys ; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green, 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice. 
And  there's  never  a  leaf  or  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves. 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives ; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings. 

And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters 
and  sings ; 
He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest, — 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best? 
Now  is  the  high  tide  of  the  year. 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 
Comes  flooding  back  with  a  ripply  cheer. 

Into  every  bare  inlet  and  creek  and  bay ; 


318  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 

EIGHTH    TEAR  JIINB 

Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it, 
We  are  happy  now  because  God  wills  it ; 
No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 
'Tis  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are  green ; 
We  sit  in  the  warm  shade  and  feel  right  well 
How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  the  blossoms  swell; 
We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  cannot  help  know- 
ing 
That  skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing; 
The  breeze  comes  whispering  in  our  ear, 
That  dandelions  are  blossoming  near, 

That  maize  has  sprouted,  that  streams  are 
flowing, 
That  the  river  is  bluer  than  the  sky. 
That  the  robin  is  plastering  his  house  hard-by; 
And  if  the  breeze  kept  the  good  news  back, 
For  other  couriers  we  should  not  lack ; 

We  could  guess  it  all  by  yon  heifer's  low- 
ing,— 
And  hark !  how  clear  bold  chanticleer. 
Warmed  with  the  new  wine  of  the  year, 

Tells  all  in  his  lusty  crowing. 

Joy  comes,  grief  goes,  we  know  not  how ; 
Everything  is  happy  now, 

Everything  is  upward  striving; 
'Tis  as  easy  now  for  the  heart  to  be  true 
As  for  grass  to  be  green  or  skies  to  be  blue, — 

'Tis  the  natural  way  of  living: 
Who  knows  whither  the  clouds  have  fled? 

In  the  unscarred  heaven  they  leave  no  wake ; 
And  the  eyes  forget  the  tears  they  have  shed. 

The  heart  forgets  its  sorrow  and  ache; 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  319 

EIGHTH    TEAR  JTINll 

The  soul  partakes  the  season's  youth, 

And  the  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe, 

Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence  pure  and  smooth, 
Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow. 

— lames  Russell  Lowell. 


320  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 

JULY 

THE  NAME  OF  OLD  GLORY 

When,  why,  and  by  whom,  was  our  flag,  the 
Stars  and  Stripes,  first  called  "Old  Glory?" 

Daily  Query  to  Press. 
1. 

OLD  Glory !  say,  who, 
By  the  ships  and  the  crew. 
And  the  long  blended  ranks  of  the  Gray  and  the 

Blue— 
Who  gave  you,  Old  Glory,  the  name  that  you  bear 
With  such  pride  everywhere, 
As  you  cast  yourself  free  to  the  rapturous  air, 
And  leap  out  full  length,  as  we're  wanting  you 

to?— 
Who  gave  you  that  name,  with  the  ring  of  the 

same. 
And  the  honor  and  fame  so  becoming  to  you? 
Your  stripes  stroked  in  ripples  of  white  and  of 

red, 
With  your  stars  at  their  glittering  best  overhead. 
By  day  or  by  night 
Their   delightfulest  light 
Laughing  down  from  their  little  square  heaven 

of  blue ! 
Who  gave  you  the   name   of   Old   Glory — say, 

who — 
Who  gave  you  the  name  of  Old  Glory? 

The  old  banner  lifted,  and  faltering  then 

In   vague   lisps  and  whispers  fell  silent  again. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  321 


EIGHTH    TEAR 


II. 


Old  Glory, — speak  out !    We  are  asking  about 
How  you  happened  to  "favor"  a  name,  so  to  say, 
That  sounds  so  familiar  and  careless  and  gay, 
As  we  cheer  it,  and  shout  in  our  wild  breezy  way. 
We — the  crozvd,  every  man  of  us,  calling  you 

that— 
We,  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry,  each  swinging  his 

hat 
And  hurrahing  "Old  Glory!"  like  you  were  our 

kin. 
When — Lord! — we  all  know  we're  as  common 

as  sin! 
And  it  just  seems  like  you  humor  us  all 
And  waft  us  your  thanks,  as  we  hail  you  and  fall 
Into  line,  with  you  over  us,  waving  us  on 
Where  our  glorified,  sanctified  betters  have  gone. 
And  this  is  the  reason  we're  wanting  to  know 
(And  we're  wanting  it  so! 
Where  our  fathers  went  we  are  willing  to  go) 
Who  gave  you  the  name  of  Old  Glory? 

The  old  flag  unfurled  with  a  billowy  thrill 
For  an  instant;  then  zvistfully  sighed  and  was  still. 


I  I 


322  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 

EIGHTH    TEAR  JUI'' 

III. 

Old  Glory,  the  story  we're  wanting  to  hear 

Is  what  the  plain  facts  of  your  christening  were, 

For  your  name, — just  to  hear  it, 

Repeat  it,  and  cheer  it,  's  a  tang  to  the  spirit 

As  salt  as  a  tear; 

And  seeing  you  fly,  and  the  boys  marching  by. 

There's  a  shout  in  the  throat  and  a  blur  in  the 

eye, 
And  an  aching  to  live  for  you  always — or  die, 
If,  dying,  we  still  keep  you  waving  on  high. 
And  so,  by  our  love 
For  you,  floating  above, 

And  the  scars  of  all  wars  and  the  sorrows  thereof 
Who  gave  you  the  name  of  Old  Glory,  and  why 

Are  we  thrilled  at  the  name  of  Old  Glory  ? 
Then  the  old  banner  leaped,  like  a  sail  in  the  blast, 
And  fluttered  an  audible  answer  at  last. 

IV. 

And  it  spake,  with  a  shake  of  the  voice,  and  it 
said : — 

By  Ihe  driven  snow-white  and  the  living  blood- 
red 

Of  my  bars,  and  their  heaven  of  stars  overhead — 

By  the  symbol  conjoined  of  them  all,  skyward 
cast. 

As  I  float  from  the  steeple,  or  flap  at  the  mast, 

Or  droop  o'er  the  sod  where  the  long  grasses 
nod, — 

My  name  is  as  old  as  the  glory  of  God. 

So  I  came  by  the  name  of  Old  Glory. 

— James  Whitcomb  Riley. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  323 


EIGHTH    TEAE 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS 

WHEN  a  deed  is  done  for  Freedom,  through 
the  broad  earth's  aching  breast 
Runs  a  thrill  of  joy  prophetic,  trembling  on  from 

east  to  west. 
And  the  slave,  where'er  he  cowers,  feels  the  soul 

within  him  climb 
To  the  awful  verge  of  manhood,  as  the  energy 

sublime 
Of  a  century  bursts  full-blossomed  on  the  thorny 
stem  of  Time. 

*  *  *  *  *         * 

For  mankind  are  one  in  spirit,  and  an  instinct 
bears  along. 

Round  the  earth's  elect-ic  circle,  the  swift  flash 
of  right  or  wrong; 

Whether  conscious  or  unconscious,  yet  Human- 
ity's vast  frame 

Through  its  ocean-sundered  fibres  feels  the  gush 
of  joy  or  shame  ; — 

In  the  gain  or  loss  of  one  race  all  the  rest  have 
equal  claim. 

Once  to  every  man  and  nation  comes  the  moment 

to  decide. 
In  the  strife  of  Truth  with  Falsehood,  for  the 

good  or  evil  side ; 
Some  great  cause,  God's  new  Messiah,  oflfering 

each  the  bloom  or  blight, 
Parts  the  goats  upon  the  left  hand,  and  the  sheep 

upon  the  right, 


324  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


EIGHTH    YEAR 


And  the  choice  goes  by  forever  'twixt  that  dark- 
ness and  that  Hght. 

**»*»*♦* 

Careless    seems    the    great    Avenger;    history's 

pages  but  record 
One   death   grapple  in   the   darkness   twixt   old 

systems  and  the  Word ; 
Truth  forever  on  the  scaffold,   Wrong   forever 

on  the  throne, — 
Yet  that  scaffold  sways  the  future,  and,  behind 

the  dim  unknown, 
Standeth  Gk)d  within  the  shadow,  keeping  watch 

above  his  own. 

Then  to  side  with  Truth  is  noble  when  we 
share  her  wretched  crust. 

Ere  her  cause  bring  fame  and  profit,  and  'tis 
prosperous  to  be  just; 

Then  it  is  the  brave  man  chooses,  while  the  cow- 
ard stands  aside. 

Doubting  in  his  abject  spirit,  till  his  Lord  is 
crucified, 

And  the  multitude  make  virtue  of  the  Faith 
they  had  denied. 

Count  me  o'er  earth's  chosen  heroes, — they  were 
souls  that  stood  alone, 

While  the  men  they  agonized  for  hurled  the  con- 
tumelious stone. 

Stood  serene,  and  down  the  future  saw  the 
golden  beam  incline 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  325 

EIGHTH    TEAB  ^^^'^ 

To  the  side  of  perfect  justice,  mastered  by  their 

faith  divine, 
By  one  man's  plain  truth  to  manhood  and  to 

God's  supreme  design. 

For  Humanity  sweeps  onward:  where  today  the 
martyr  stands. 

On  the  morrow  crouches  Judas  with  the  silver  in 
his  hands ; 

Far  in  front  the  cross  stands  ready  and  the  crack- 
ling fagots  burn, 

While  the  hooting  mob  of  yesterday  in  silent 
awe  return 

To  glean  up  the  scattered  ashes  into  History's 
golden  urn. 


New  occasions  teach  new  duties;  Time  makes 

ancient  good  uncouth; 
They  must  upward  still,  and  onward,  who  would 

keep  abreast  of  Truth  ; 
Lo,  before  us  gleam  her  camp-fires !  We  ourselves 

must  Pilgrims  be, 
Launch  our  Mayflower,  and  steer  boldly  through 

the  desperate  winter  sea. 
Nor  attempt  the  Future's  portal  with  the  Past's 

blood-rusted  Key. 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 


326  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 

AUGUST 

SONG. 

TKERE  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear ; 
There  is  ever  a  something  sings  alway; 
There's  the  song  of  the  lark  when  the  skies  are 
clear, 
And  the  song  of  the  thrush  when  the  skies 
are  gray. 
The  sunshine  showers  across  the  grain, 

And  the  bluebird  trills  in  the  orchard  trfee ; 
And  in  and  out,  when  the  eaves  drip  rain, 
The  swallows  are  twittering  ceaselessly. 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear, 

Be  the  skies  above  or  dark  or  fair. 
There  is  ever  a  song  that  our  hearts  may  hear — 
There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear — 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere ! 
There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear. 

In  the  midnight  black,  or  the  midday  blue; 
The  robin  pipes  when  the  sun  is  here, 

And  the  cricket  chirrups  the  whole   night 
through. 
The  buds  may  blow  and  the  fruit  may  grow, 

And  the  autumn  leaves  drop  crisp  and  sere ; 
But  whether  the  sun,  or  the  rain,  or  the  snow, 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere  my  dear. 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear, 

Be  the  skies  above  or  dark  or  fair, 
There  is  ever  a  song  that  our  hearts  may  hear — 
There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear — 
There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere ! 

— James  Whitcomh  Riley. 


BETWEEN    WniLES 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  329 


AIM  to  be  what  you  would  like  to 
seem  to  be. 
+ 
Time  lost  is  never  found  again. 

— Benjamin  Franklin. 
+ 
To  climb  steep  hills  requires  slow  pace  at 
first.  — Shakespeare. 

+ 
Life  is  too   short   for  aught  but  high  en- 
deavor. — Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 
+ 
Too  low  they  build,   who  build  below  the 
slars.  —Young 
+ 
What  ought  not  to  be  done,  never  think  of 
doing.                                                    — Bpictitus. 
+ 
If  you  would  not  be  known  to  do  a  thing 
Dover  do  it.                                              — Emerson. 
+ 
Trifles   make   perfection,   but   perfection   is 
no   trifle.                                          — Michelangelo. 
+ 
Nothing  has  been  that  shall  not  bettered  be 
hereafter.                                 — Robert  Browning. 
+ 
A  lie  is  a  lie,  whether  it  be  a  lie  to  the  eye 
or  a  lie  to  the  ear.                  — Samuel  Johnson. 
+ 
To  tell  a  lie  is  like  the  cut  of  a  saber;  al- 
though the  wound  may  heal,  the  scar  will  still 
remain.  — Sadt. 


330  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


GET  work,  get  work ;  be  sure 
It  is  better  than  what  we  work  to  get. 
— Mrs.  Browning. 
+ 
A  man's  reach  must  exceed  his  grasp,  else 
what's  a  heaven  for?  — Robert  Brozvning. 

+ 
One  cannot  always  be  a  hero,  but  one  can 
always  be  a  man.  — Goethe. 

+ 
For  he  that  will  say  and  nothing  do 
Is  not  worthy  with  good  company  to  go. 

— From  Everyman. 
+ 
The  doorstep  to  the  temple  of  wisdom  is  a 
knowledge  of  our  ignorance.  — Spiirgeon. 

+ 
Circumstances  are    beyond    the    control  of 
man,  but  his  conduct  is  in  his  own  power. 

— Disraeli. 
+ 
Honor  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise, 
Act  well  your  part,  there  all  the  honor  lies. 

—Pope. 
+ 
"Bad  habits  gather  by  unseen  degrees 
As  brooks  make  rivers  and  rivers  run  to  seas." 
+ 
I  don't  think  much  of  a  man  who  is  not 
wiser  today  than  he  was  yesterday. 

— Abraham  Lincoln. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  331 


Pi 


)ASS  therefore  not  today  in  vain 
For  it  will  never  come  again. 

— Omar  Khayam. 
+ 
Errors,  like  strav^s,  upon  the  surface  flow, 
He  who  would  seek  for  pearls  must  dive  below. 

— Dryden. 
+ 
Who  does  the  best  his  circumstance  allows 
Does  well,  acts  nobly,  angels  could  do  no  more. 

— Young. 
+ 
Better  pursue  a  frivolous  trade  by  serious  means 
Than  a  sublime  art  frivolously. 

— Mrs.  Broivning. 
+ 
No  star  is  lost  we  ever  once  have  seen. 
We  always  may  be  what  we  might  have  been. 

— Adelaide  Proctor. 
+ 
Dare  to  be  true ;  nothing  can  need  a  lie ; 
The  fault  that  needs  it  most  grows  two  thereby. 

— George  Herbert. 
+ 
Habit  is  a  cable ;  we  weave  a  thread  of  it 
each  day  and  at  last  we  cannot  break  it. 

— Horace  Mann. 
+ 
Envy  is  merely  the  meanest  form   of  ad- 
miration ;  and  a  man  who  envies  another  admits 
thereby  his  own  inferiority. 

— Theodore  Roosevelt. 


332  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


THERE  is   nothing  in   which   people  betray 
tiieir  characters  more  than  in  what  they  find 
to  laugh  at.  — Goethe. 

+ 
He  who  knows  what  is  good  and  choses  it, 
who  knows  what  is  bad  and  avoids  it,  is  learned 
and  temperate.  — Socrates. 

+ 
With  a  nation  as  with  a  man,  the  worthi- 
ness of  life  depends  upon  the  way  in  which  the 
every-day  duties  are  done. 

— Theodore  Roosevelt. 
+ 
All  that  we  are  is  the  result  of  what  we 
have  thought ;  it  is  founded  on  our  thoughts, 
it  is  made  up  of  our  thoughts. 
+ 
Train  a  boy  to  be  brave  and  to  speak  the 
truth,  and  you  have  done  your  best  by  him;  the 
rest  he  must  do  for  himself. 

— Lew  Wallace. 
+ 
It  is  important  to  learn  early  to  rely  upon 
one's  self,  for  little  has  been  done  in  the  world 
by  those  who  are  always  looking  for  someone 
to  lean  on.  — Edivard  Everett. 

+ 
I  do  not  expect  perfection,  but  I  do  expect 
genuine  and  sincere  effort  towards  being  decent 
and  cleanly  in  thought,  word  and  deed. 

— Theodore  Roosevelt. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  333 


KINDNESS  is  the  music  of  ^s^ood  will  to  men, 
and  on  this  harp,  the  smallest  fingers  may 
play  heaven's  sweetest  tunes  on  earth. 

— Elihu  Burritt. 
+ 

Howe'er  it  be  it  seems  to  me 
'Tis  only  noble  to  be  good; 

Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood. 

— Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson. 

+ 

Above  all,  remember  this,  that  the  most  un- 
safe advice  to  follow  is  that  of  the  man  who 
would  advise  us  to  do  wrong  in  order  that  we 
may  benefit  by  it.  —Theodore  Roosevelt. 

+ 

A  man  should  never  be  ashamed  to  own  that 
he  has  been  in  the  wrong ;  it  is  but  saying  in  an- 
other way  that  he  is  wiser  today  than  he  was 
yesterday.  — William  Penn. 

+ 

Oh,  many  a  shaft  at  random  sent, 
Finds  mark  the  archer  little  meant ; 
And  many  a  word  at  random  spoken. 
May  soothe  or  wound  a  heart  that's  broken. 

—Scott. 
+ 

If  we  read  the  secret  history  of  our  ene- 
m-ies,  we  could  find  in  each  man's  life  sorrow  and 
suffering  enough  to  disarm  all  hostility. 

— Longfellow. 


334  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


BE  like  the  bird,  who,  pausing  in  her  flight 
Awhile,  on  boughs  too  slight. 
Feels  them  give  beneath  her  and  yet  sings. 
Knowing  she  has  wings.  — Browning. 

+ 
If  wisdom's  ways  you'd  wisely  seek. 

Five   things   observe   with   care, — 
Of  whom  you  speak,  to  whom  you  speak 
And  how  and  when  and  where. 

— Unknown. 
+ 

He  that  cannot  forgive  others  breaks  the 
bridge  over  which  he  himself  must  pass ;  for 
Vv^e  all  have  need  to  be  forgiven.  — Herbert. 

+ 

"Count  that  day  lost 

Whose  low  descending  sun 

Views  from  thy  hand 

No  worthy  action  done."        — Robart. 

Boys  flying  kites  haul  in  their  white-winged  birds, 
You  can't  do  that  way  when  you're  flying  words  ; 
Thoughts  unexpressed  sometimes  fall  back  dead, 
But  God  himself  can't  kill  them  when  they're 
said.  — Will  Carlton. 

+ 

The  tissue  of  the  life  to  be 

We  weave  with  colors  all  our  own 
And  in  the  field  of  destiny 

We  reap  as  we  have  sown. 

— Whittier. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  335 


SINCE  the  Universe  began 
And  till  it  shall  be  ended 
The  soul  of  Nature,  soul  of  man 

And  the  soul  of  God  are  blended. 

— Unknoiun. 
+ 
He  liveth  long  who  loveth  well, 

All  else  is  life  but  flung  away; 
He  liveth  longest  who  can  tell 

Of  true  things  truly  done  each  day. 

— Cowper. 
+ 
How  shall  I  a  habit  break? 
As  you  did  that  habit  make. 
As  you  gathered  you  must  loose 
As  you  yielded,  now  refuse. 

— John  Boyle  O'Reilly. 
+ 
Four  things  a  man  must  learn  to  do, 
If  he  would  make  his  record  true ; 
To  think  without  confusion  clearly; 
To  love  his  fellow-men  sincerely ; 
^o  act  from  honest  motives  purely ; 
To  trust  in  God  and  Heaven  securely. 

— Henry  Van  Dyke. 
+ 

Let  any  man 
Once  show  the  world  that  he  feels 
Afraid  of  its  bark,  and  'twill  fly  at  his  heels ; 
Let  him  fearlessly  face  it  and  'twill  leave  him 

alone, 
But  'twill  fawn  at  his  feet  if  he  fling  it  a  bone. 

— Ozven  Meredith 


336  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


Y 


'OU  will  find  that  luck  is  only  pluck 
To  try  things  over  and  over, 
Patience  and  skill,  courage  and  will 
Are  the  four  leaves  of  luck's  clover. 

— Blla  Higginson. 
+ 
No  man  is  born  into  the  world  whose  work 
Is  not  born  with  him; 

There  is  always  work, — and  tools  to  work  withal, 
For  those  who  will ;  and  blessed  be  the  horny 
hands  of  toil.  —Lowell 

+ 
Noble  thoughts   and  lofty   sentiments  are 
the  parents  of  pure  and  purposeful  emotions,  and 
these  heaven-born  emotions  are  the  parents  of 
splendid  deeds,  heroic  life,  and  God-like  char- 
acter. — Unknown. 
+ 
It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  a  sound  body  and 
a  better  thing  to  have  a  sound  mind ;  and  better 
still  to  have  that  aggregate  of  virile  and  decent 
qualities    which   we   group   together   under   the 
name  of  character. 

— Theodore  Roosevelt. 
+ 
Live  up  to  the  best  that  is  in  you ;  live  noble 
lives  as  j^ou  all  may,  in  whatever  condition  you 
may  find  yourselves,  so  that  your  epitaph  may 
be  that  of  Euripides :  "This  monument  does  not 
make  thee  famous,  O  Euripides,  but  thou  makest 
this  monument  famous."  — Longfellow. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIl<'VL  337 


WERE  a  great  star  quenched  on  high, 
For  ages  would  its  light 
Still  travelling  downward  from  the  sky, 

ihine  on  our  mortal  sight. 
So  when  a  great  man  dies. 

For  years  beyond  our  ken 
The  light  he  leaves  behind  him  lies 
Upon  the  paths  of  men. 

— Longfellow. 


In  all  the  affairs  of  human  life,  social  as  well 
as  political,  I  have  remarked  that  courtesies,  of 
a  small  and  trivial  character,  are  the  ones  that 
strike  deepest  to  the  grateful  and  appreciating 
heart. 

— Henry  Clay. 


Let  us  always  remember  that  whatever  dif- 
ferences about  politics  may  have  existed,  or  may 
still  exist,  Ave  are  all  Americans  before  we  are 
partisans,  and  cherish  the  welfare  of  all  the  peo- 
ple above  party  or  state. 

— William  McKinley. 


TO  look  up  and  not  down ; 
To  look  forward  and  not  back ; 
To  look  out  and  not  in ; 
And  to  lend  a  hand. 

— Edzvard  Everett  Hale. 


12 


338  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 


'"  I  'IS  splendid  to  live  so  grandly 
1  That  long  after  you  have  gone 
The  things  you  did  are  remembered 

And  recounted  under  the  sun ; 
To  live  so  bravely  and  purely 

That  a  nation  stops  on  its  way, 
And  once  a  year  with  song  and  speech, 
Keeps  the  thought  of  your  natal  day. 

— Margaret  E.  Sangster. 


Every  young  man  is  now  a  sower  of  seed 
in  the  field  of  life.  The  bright  days  of  youth 
are  the  seed-time.  Every  thought  of  your  intellect, 
every  emotion  of  your  heart,  every  word  of  your 
tongue,  every  principle  you  adopt,  every  act  you 
perform,  is  a  seed,  whose  good  or  evil  fruit  will 
prove  bliss  or  bane  of  your  future  life. 

— Wise. 

+ 

No  stream  from  its  source 
Flows  seaward,  how  lonely  soever  its  course. 
But  what  some  land  is  gladdened.    No  star  ever 

rose 
And   set,    without   influence   somewhere.      Who 

knows 
Vv'hat  earth  needs  from  earth's  lowest  creature? 

No  life 
Can  be  pure  in  its  purpose  and  strong  in  its  strife 
And  all  life  not  be  purer  and  stronger  thereby, 

— Owen  Meredith. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  339 


BY  honest  work  and  inward  truth 
The  victories  of  life  are  won, 
And  what  is  wisely  done  in  youth 

For  all  the  years  is  wisely  done ; 
The  little  deeds  of  every  day 

Shape  that  within  which  lives  for  aye. 

No  thought  so  buried  in  the  dark 

It  shall  not  bear  its  bloom  in  light; 

No  act  too  small  to  leave  its  mark 

Upon  the  young  heart's  tablet  white ; 

Our  grand  achievements'  secret  springs 
Are  tempered  among  trivial  things. 

No  soul  at  last  is  truly  great 

That  was  not  greatly  true  at  first; 
In  childhood's  play  are  seeds  of  fate 

Whose  flower  in  manhood's  work  shall  burst ; 
In  the  clinched  fist  of  baby  Thor 

Might  seem  his  hammer  clutched  for  war. 

******** 

The  firmest  tower  to  heaven  up-piled 
Hides  deepest  its  foundation  stone ; 

Do  well  the  duty  of  the  child, 

And  manhood's  task  is  well  begun ; 

In  thunders  of  the  forum  yet 

Resounds  the  mastered  alphabet. 

— Burleigh. 


Success  does  not  consist  in  never  making 
blunders,  but  in  never  making  the  same  one  a 
second  time.  —D.  T.  Shaw. 


340  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


GOD  grant  that  as  our  horizon  of  duty  is 
widened,  our  minds  may  widen  with  it ;  that 
as  our  burden  is  increased,  our  shoulders  may  be 
strengthened  to  bear  it.  God  grant  us  that  spirit 
of  wisdom  and  understanding,  uprightness  and 
godly  fear,  without  which  there  is  nothing,  with 
which,  even  in  the  smallest  things,  there  is  every- 
thing. — Dean  Stanley, 
+ 

These  are  the  gifts  I  ask 

Of  thee,  Spirit  serene: 

Strength  for  the  daily  task. 

Courage  to  face  the  road, 
Good  cheer  to  help  me  bear  the  traveler's  load, 
And,  for  the  hours  of  rest  that  come  between, 
An  inward  joy  in  all  things  heard  and  seen. 

These  are  the  sins  I  fain 

Would  have  thee  take  away: 

Malice,  and  cold  disdain. 

Hot  anger,  sullen  hate. 
Scorn  of  the  lowly,  envy  of  the  great. 
And  discontent  that  casts  a  shadow  gray 
On  all  the  brightness  of  the  day. 

— Henry  VanDyke. 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  341 


THE  thing  we  long  for,  that  we  are 
for  one  transcendent  moment, 
Before  the  Present  poor  and  bare 
Can  make  its  sneering  comment. 
***** 

Still  through  our  paltry  stir  and  strife, 
Glows  down  the  wished  Ideal, 

And  Longing  molds  in  clay  what  Life 
Carves  in  the  marble  Real. 

— Lowell. 


Beware  of  too  sublime  a  sense 
Of  your  own  importance  and  consequence  1 
The  man  who  dreams  himself  so  great, 
And  his  importance  of  such  weight, 
That  all  around,  that  all  that's  done, — 
Must  move  and  act  for  him  alone, — 
Will  learn  in  school  of  tribulation 
The  folly  of  his  expectation, 

— William  Cowper. 


Each  wave  that  breaks  and  disappears 

Makes  some  new  change  upon  the  shore; 
For  every  hopeful  word  the  world 

Has  something  that  was  not  before. 
The  sun  has  never  shone  in  vain, 

Each  fair  wind  blows  good  cheer  somewhere ; 
For  every  happy  smile  the  world 

Whirls  on  its  way  with  less  of  care. 


342  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 


Thou  must  be  true  thyself, 

If  thou  the  truth  would'st  teach; 

Thy  soul  must  overflow, 

If   thou   another   soul   would'st   reach ; 

It  needs  the  overflowing  heart, 
To  give  the  life  full  speech. 

Think  truly  and  thy  thought 

Shall  the  world's  famine  feed ; 
Speak  truly  and  thy  word 

Shall  be  a  fruitful  seed; 
Live  truly  and  thy  life  shall  be 

A  great  and  noble  creed. 

— Emerson. 


INDEX 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL  345 


INDCX 


Abou  Ben  Adhem — Hunt 152 

Agreed  to  Disagree — Day  re 124 

Aim  of  Life — Bailey 269 

Asleep — Jenks   186 

Alexander   Selkirk — Cozvper 171 

Alphabetic  Gems— 43,  46,  49,  52,  54,  57,  59,  62, 
65,  68,  70,  74. 

America — Smith   55 

American  Flag — Drake   201 

April    60 

April   Day — Smith 95 

April  Day,  An — Southey 275 

Autumn  Leaves — JVray 180 

Average  Man — Sangster 193 

Barefoot  Boy,  The—Whittier 163 

Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic — Hozve 200 

Bells,    The— Po^ 263 

Better  Way,  The — Unknown 177 

Blue  and  the  Gray,  Tht— Pinch 281 

Bluebell,  The — Unknozvn 100 

Burial  of  Moses — Alexander 220 

Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore— Wolfe 253 

Bye-low  Song — Unknozvn 42 

Chambered   Nautilus — Holmes 293 

Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade — Tennyson ....  273 

Chestnut,  The — Unknozvn 81 

Child's  World,  "Vht— Rands 77 

Children's    Hour,    The — Longfellozv 135 

Christmas   Bells — Longfellozv 217 

Christmas    Tree— Mc Hugh 150 

City  and  the  Country  Mouse — Rossetti 106 


346  CHILD'S    CALENDAR   BEAUTIFUL 


Cloud,  The—ShcUey 289 

Columbus — Miller 143 

Come  Little  Leaves — Cooper 44 

Concord  Hymn — Bnierson 313 

Corn  Song,  The — Whit  tier 175 

Daffodils,   The — Wordsivorth 157 

Dandelion,  To  the — Lowell 231 

Dewdrops — Butts 69 

Down  to  Sleep — Jackson 181 

Dream  of  Autumn — Riley 139 

Earth  to  Mr— Ward 134 

Empty  Nest,  The — Allen 48 

Eve  of  Waterloo — Byron 270 

Fable,  A — Bmerson 112 

Fairy  Artist,  The — Unknown 53 

Fame — Schiller   213 

Fiftieth  Birthday  of  Agassiz — Longfellow.  ..196 

Find  a  Way  or  Make  It — Saxe 227 

Finding  of  the  Lyre — Loivell 290 

First  Snow  Fall — Lozvell 148 

Flag  of  the  Free — Unknozvn 153 

Flower  Lullaby 7^ 

Forget  Me  Not — Unknozvn 133 

Forest  Hymn — Bryant 242 

Four  Sunbeams— M.  K.  B 126 

Fringed    Gentian — Bryant 296 

Frost   Work — Aldrich 183 

Gettysburg  Address — Lincoln 315 

Give — Proctor    17^ 

God  Bless  Us  Every  One—Riley 300 

Golden-rod — From  Our  Little  Ones 41 

Good-bye  to  Summer 7^ 

Gradatim— //o//a«rf   229 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL  347 


Heart  of  a  Seed,  The— Unkiio^cn 56 

Heritage,  The— Loti-c//   225 

Uohenlinden— Cant pbcll   2.23 

Holiday    Giits—Unkuozi'ii 117 

Home,  Sweet  Home — Payne 183 

How  the  Leaves  Came  Down — Coolidge.  ...    79 

How  to  be  Happy — Unknoivn 85 

Humble   Bee.   Th^^—Bnierson 286 

Humming  Bird,  The — Unknozvn 103 

Hymn  to  Diana — Jonson 295 

If  I  Were  a  Sunbeam — Unknoz^ni 105 

Inaugural  Address,  Extract — Roosevelt 316 

Indian  Summer — VanDyke   212 

Jack-in-the  Pulpit — Unknown 15S 

January — Unknozvn    89 

January — Sfei)i    184 

June — Burton   IQ^ 

June   Day,   A— Lowell 3^7 

Just  a  Little — Unknozcn 153 

Just  You  and  I — Unknozvn Q2 

King  Henry's  Address — Shakespeare 277 

Ladder  of  St.  Aus^u^tme—Longfellozv 308 

Ladv  INIoon — Lord  Houghton 103 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrims — Heinans 146 

Last  heai— Holmes 297 

Lead  Kindly  Light — Nezvman 303 

Leaning  and   Lifting — Wilcox I99 

Lilac,  The— Bates    ^. 99 

Lincoln,  Abraham — Stoddard 189 

Lincoln,   the   Great   Commoner — Markham.  .267 

Little  Boy  Blue— F^VW 162 

Little   Brown   Hands — Krout 168 

Little  Dandelion — Bostzvick 160 


348  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 

Little  Fir  Trees,  The — Stein 115 

Little   Peach  Blossom — Unknown 63 

Little  Snow  Flake — San^ster 51 

Love — Bourdillon    106 

Love  of   Country — Scott 234 

March — Woolson    93 

March — Larcom    154 

March — Bryant    190 

May — Sheldon    97 

May — McDonald    161 

Moss  Rose,  The — Krummachcr 236 

My  Shadow — Stevenson    61 

Name  of  Old  Glory — Riley 320 

New  Year,  The — Unknoivn 53 

New   Year's   Greeting- — Unknoivn 89 

Nolan's   Speech — Hale 235 

Nonsense  Alphabet— 43,  46,  49,  52,  54,  57,  59, 

62,  65,  68,  70,  74. 

November — Cary    114 

October's  Bright  Blue  Weather — Jackson.  ...  11 1 

October  Song — Stein 178 

O  Captain,  My  Captain — Whitman 306 

Ode  to  Autumn — Keats 249 

Old  Ironsides — Holmes   314 

Opportunity — Sill    205 

Origin  of  the  Opal — Unknown 241 

Our  Flag  91 

Our  Kind  of  a  Man — Riley 244 

Psalms— 47,   83,    113,    145,    182,   214,   215,   255, 

256,  299. 

Petrified  Fern,  "Tht— Branch 215 

Present    Crisis,   The — Lowell 323 

Pussy  Willows — Fotilke 94 


CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAVTIFUl  84y 


Pussy   Willow    Song — Unknozvn 58 

Queer  Little  Historians — Caldzvell no 

Rainbow  Fairies,   The — Hadlcy 69 

Rare   September — Uiiknoivn 140 

Reason  Why,  The — Unknown 90 

Redbreast  and  Butterfly — Wordsworth 155 

Red,  White,  and  Blue — Shaw 120 

Recessional — Kiplincr    257 

Remember — The   Bible 304 

Ring  Out  Wild  Behs — Tennyson 259 

Robert  of  Lincoln — Bryant 129 

Robin's  Come — Caldzvell   233 

Robin's  Secret — Unknown 64 

September — Jackson.    109 

September  Days — True    209 

Seven  Times  One — Ingelozv 66 

Shell,   The — Tennyson 251 

Shepherd  of  King  Admetus,  The — Lowell.  .  .187 

Ship  of  State,  The — Longfellow 305 

Shortest  Month,  The — Whitney 92 

Sir    Robin — Larcom 122 

Silver  Boat,  The — Btitts loi 

Skylark,  "The— Hogg .288 

Skylark,  To  a — Shelley 237 

Snow   Storm — Bnierson 258 

Somebody's  Mother — Unknozvn    210 

Song — Riley    326 

Song,  A — Browning  127 

South  Wind  and  the  Sun.  The — Riley 192 

Spring — Thaxter    98 

Star  Spangled  Banner,  The — Key 279 

Star,  The — Taylor 82 

Summer's  Sunny  Days — Unknown 167 


350  CHILD'S    CALENDAR    BEAUTIFUL 


Sweet  Red  Rose,  The—Stacy 95 

Sweet  and  Low — Tennyson 67 

Swing,   The — Stevenson 45 

Talking  in  Their  Sleep — Thomas 117 

Ten  Commandments,  The — The  Bible 228 

Tendril's   Faith,  The— JVilcox 123 

Thanatopsis — Bryant    Jio 

Three-inch  Grin,  The — Unknozvn 72, 

Thoughts  fer  the  Discuraged  Farmer — Riley  .2^'^ 

Throstle,    The— Tennyson 132 

Two  Little   Stockings— //wn^ 86 

Village  Blacksmith,   The— Longf ell oiv 141 

Violet,  The— Taylor   102 

Voice  of  Spring,  The 191 

Waiting  to  Grow — Unknown 119 

Wasp  and  the  Bee,  The — Unknozvn 104 

Water  Fowl,  To  a— Bryant 252 

We  Thank  Thee— Sangster 84 

When  Santa  Glaus  Gomes — Unknozvn 50 

When  Daddv  Lights  the  Tree— Sangster 218 

What  March  Does— Smith 121 

What  Makes  Ghristmas — Hozve 87 

What  Robin  ToU— Cooper 96 

Who  Has  Seen  the  Wmd—Rossctfi 93 

Wind,    The — Stevenson 5^ 

Wings— Butts    204 

Winged   Seeds    131 

Wmtev—Whittier 261 

Wmter—Lozvell  301 

Wizard  Frost — Sherman    151 

Wonderful  Weaver — Cooper 88 

Work— Prescott    I95 

Wynken,  Blvnken,  and  Nod — Field 71 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


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1 9  1911 


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